Things always show upwhen they don't arrive.

His hot and bothered body of sweatfelt refreshing against my flesh,like the water beads on a frosty Mason jar of lemonadethe summer of my first blush with self-rule and release,even though it was February.

This bitterly cold weather is a shift from an even colder half of year.It's as if we're back to some sort of embryonic development thatbrought us to where we started: an inertia of life—changing positions like atoms within a molecule—the cruel, cruel curse of the winter sunset...a reminder that natural light comes and goesas it damn well pleases.

It might be true that I am a lightweight when it comes tofalling in love,heavy.

I've always kept one emotional suitcase packed.With you,I live out of one,every day,and I keep a cab on speed dial.

I need more protein in my poetry.I don't care if you cannot chew the fat of my words,my stomach is growlingand it is because...I am starving.

When you fall in love for the last time,it becomes the first.

Once upon a time ago, you loved me in Photoshop.When I was monochromatic, you gave me texture.You went through my layer mask and hit......'Reveal All'.I remember when you stared at me like I was saturated; but, sometimes I don't remember that once upon a time agowithout seeing your background image losing its magic lens.

We forget to thank thosethat hurt us the most.

Little girls start changing their life as they get older.Their rhythm changes...Their stories, joys, tickles, and merriment do not change;they do.Their laughter becomes about chagrin, apology, and cordiality.It becomes a nervous laughter.It stops coming from a place of pure abandonment anymore;it comes from a place of abandoning theirpure abandonment.They forget how to laugh from the bellies of their being.