by Caitlin


My tongue lived in sharp stories

tormenting too many stories

back and forth we part

such shame

the dawn stretched her cloak so smooth

and soft

over of all our sleeping parts

We’ll fly again tonight

so lowly, so holy

those mothy moths

are searching my dark skin

for light

There will never be an illuminated

moment where all rings clear

because all I’ve got of you

is  a relic

and a jar of sad sad tears