I am slender wrists; bright eyed.

Scarred knuckles; tan thigh-ed.

Salty hair; air dried.

Alliteration drowned in high tide.

 

Spilling words or wine,

So long as they are both mine.

 

I’m here to give myself a break from the constant

shaking

from containing the avalanches of

stanzas

building up behind my lips

curled inside the places where

I bite them when I feel pressure.

 

This is something challenging and new;

a more satisfying way to

process all that’s happened with you.