“If I’m wrong about you, let’s face it instead of fading like tire marks swallowed by rain. Run me into the midst of a storm. Leave me to drown there.”

I’ve been afraid to look at the woman in the mirror. Everyday she looks less and less like me. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever find my way back home.

If I had a wishing well, I’d wish you well. That the skies hold the key to all you’ve ever wanted, with or without me.

It wasn’t enough fading under surfaces, below waves, swollen pufferfish retracting this inflated love that not even you could believe in.

I hide behind olive branches. So afraid of others knowing what lay beneath the broken rifle. The reality hitting the pavement like bullets that stem from war.

The moon may bring peace, but the sun, she offers resilience.

And when I walk alone, I speak in deaf tones. I’m screaming and no one knows, no one knows. No one pays attention to where the sound goes.

Remember me in burnt coffee mornings, warm hugs, fresh sunday snow. Know that you loved me too cautiously.

The autumn breeze carves out an ache in your memory.

Caution! This vehicle stops quite frequently when overwhelmed.

I miss you a little less each day. You’re just a faded memory now – delicate; tucked away.

You are worthy of feeling incredibly and unapologetically alive.

What a shame – how the taste of you could rot even the cedar and cypress. How you fooled the redwood into believing narcissus’ pond was made for two.

It’s time for me to dust off this weary heart so that I may open it to one whose only open to me. You’re going to miss me when I’m gone and it’ll be too late.

My god is a moment, a whimsical idea, a whisper. A hope bending itself into a prayer.

Love is believable. I reckon I’ll just see it when I see it.

You have always been enough. Allow yourself to finally feel it.

You said that my face looks good between your hands. I said I disagree. Because your face looks even better between my legs.

I closed my eyes held my face towards the sky and prayed inwardly for strength to grow. And suddenly it began to rain.

Look into her soul, she is way more beautiful than these pretty faces.

Blow the cigarette smoke on my face. I want to smell you in them.

The face can lie but the heart can not.

But above all, my child, grace is choosing love when faced with hate.

The glow from the southern sun lit up her face like a goddess divine.

Earlier people showed their two-faced, covid makes them three-faced.