Eve Rounds

we three

they rest on the surface of me
granting my entry into the most sacred of places
a surprising density with neither mass nor saturation
i wake every day to watch them settle in
more and more and more please more
one a tight fold into contemplation
two a delicate containment bursting about the skin
three an assertive grip at its most vulnerable expression
i am strengthened by the safety you have given me
you are my anchor in the tonle sap and throughout the dry season
my botanical acolyte
my parents

good morning untitled

what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as

snip snip

the magic of a fresh cut i am literally lighter though not by much my shoulders have less to lug my neck has less to

but ok but

write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing

a 5 7 5 for e

peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!


is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would

a poem about you for you (and you)

you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love