Photo: Barcelona, Spain | 120 film
every corner is a mirror of checkered floors
for a flat drink to soak up.
and suddenly in a sea of unfamiliar flesh
appears someone wearing the sun
so you strip
Photo: Port Angeles, WA | 120 film
to bathe in your own sun
to the heels
of the sea
Photo: Seattle, WA | 120 film
undone [in III acts]
this is not a tragedy
your side of the bed is busy
tying knots. the rope, cotton. the kind
of knots that harbor strung out hearts.
the kind of hearts you eat to survive.
there’s room enough in this bed
to wrestle a lioness
between the brass hoops and Sunday’s socks
we are not conventional
you. unknown matter
so i sing louder.
do not use this rope where life, limb, or
personal safety are involved.
do not use this rope to weave dreams.
try instead a synthetic variety.
one that holds up to the weather.
no changes in weight despite the load
bearing in mind that a single thread
left to its own devices
would have sufficed. if only life, limb, and
personal safety were not involved.
Photo: Datça, Türkiye | LomoChrome Purple 120 film
yüz yıl içinde
yüz yüze geldiğimizde
tekrar yüzelim mi?
in a hundred years
when we come face to face
shall we swim again
from the surface to the depths?
Photo: PNW Coast | 35mm film
you be the girl with ginger lemon tea and i’ll be the boy with a poem in his back pocket
jean-stained, though i wear none.
we’ll hug like childhood friends, like discarded copies of ourselves
stop. ocean foam is sputtering the moon’s secrets.
are you listening? shit. my mouth was uncorked when the wind blew,
now your name will crackle with each bite. rose.