I will always think of him as the boy with the peculiar, unexpected French accent. As windows open, curtains breezing in the wind, lying naked together on a bed, discussing all our great loves, that in truth may not have been that great. The comfort I felt in spilling my own self, of sharing intimacy…

Coffee and wine, never mixed,A tiny death for mid century modernYellow head bands, wind swept hairDream walker, walking in dreamsSlept into the moon hoursHopeful gentle breathing Keep the minds eye openGarnet beads around the neckConsumed, dissolved in haze.

Those days were commutes of endless and tangled churning. I vanished into anticipatory train rides, so dreamy and so melancholic. It was a feeling of coming back to a familiar someone, a holiday feast, a warmness and being-of-self. I felt a pursuit of existence, my own existence shared with another, to have a life I…

What’s scariest in the middle of the night is calling strangers to come sleep on the side. Or seeing you speaking to those strangers while me, smiling pretending to never think, to become the vision of perfect. Perfect spelled with emphasis on the C for complete, and two Es, twice for empty, twice for the…