Wonder, wonder I do.

my left wrist

scented with salt
and wood and buried
treasures -
it smells of the
nape
   of your neck

my right wrist

hollow and earthen
pale gates to hell stand open
drowning leaves in smoke


...I~ have~ a~ new-old~ hobby~. :}

Cracklesmooth.

I woke to the sound of footsteps above me -- but we are on the top floor! There is nothing higher!

I wished for cream and tea and wine and strawberries, but there was only stale toast and an overripe pear.

The comb broke, and I threw it to the floor.