Fand

EDIT: deleted. ^^

to think in metaphors... the lines of his face, gilded by man-made fire and the ceiling mottled with birthmarks of amber are such testaments to those who watch unseen, the ...

how to begin a poem when the subject no longer exists? so your fatalistic penchants, pretty gin-soaked boy, taste of snow and apples on my tongue. so you darkened my ...

The moon’s belly hangs low, scraping glass cliffs and the leaf-wreathed wind softly strokes the pregnant, pockmarked skin. Read the entrails in the maria and conjugal craters: This is his ...

[unrefined; rip it to shreds] ... ... ... nose prints on beaded glass and marker-stained palms aside, she wonders how difficult it would be to reclaim the past. not the ...

Phantasos lingers: crouched, hunched, nose buried in borrowed poppies. He is fragments and run-ons taken out of context, stygian white and green as sin, failing wings over lakes, bookends and ...

If the pen could capture the sound of your voice, would it draw the sky for me? Moon and Sun? The sky as seen from a Babel unfinished, gray light ...

once upon a time we told each other a story which street-lights were infallible. I remember it ............ so clearly because the air smelled like cardamom, ............ ............ ............ tho

it’s not like either of us was unrequited—...........—I should say imparlibidinous— more that we couldn’t agree on whose arms went where, and how to braid our four legs together. it ...