Monica has the shape of your feet memorized. Considering the array of extraordinary between the pair of you, her unbelievable past and your unfathomable future – it is difficult to comprehend the way she absorbs such detail.
What you still fail to realize: while Monica notices small corners of any scenario, she doesn’t ordinarily recall eye color or tress shades.
She often writes about the azure tone you look to ask her with; your sandy, un-blonde locks. The color of north-western coast. Continue reading
“I can’t wait to go to sleep at night.”
Monica doesn’t know how to explain to her husband why she craves her unconscious. She doesn’t know when it went to sleep in the first place.
Why he can’t hear it.
When Monica sleeps, the sky turns magenta with swishes of blue. It isn’t a blue she can quite describe. It’s a mix of your eyes and the sapphire ring her husband bought her for their third anniversary.
You wouldn’t have bought her anything like that, you aren’t that sort of person. Continue reading
Namaste blog family
I hope you are all happy, healthy and in love.
For the past few hours I’ve been cleaning up some pages to send to Paper Lantern Lit. It’s been fun shifting focus back to some good ol’ YA fiction. I figure I haven’t submitted any work in about six months so why not have a crack.
Exercises like this are particularly fun after spending the day writing press releases about technical sorts of business things.
My brain is happy today.
In other news, my perpetual anxiety attack over puppies and moving continues, Poetry Volume 3 remains in the mix, and somehow – whilst busted ass broke – I’m still managing to support myself as a Writer in this wonderful, wild city where summer is sweeping the sidewalks and windows stay open all night.
Surely manuscript selling is on the horizon. Although being commissioned to write a fresh creative lick is naturally acceptable.
Stay cool blog family, I’m off to edit. (Wow, you don’t usually hear me say that very often…)
Tick tock tick.
salt painted pact
etching grooves. in a grin
to convince of how i am
better. there are quiet
memories of sand blown
happiness. it is wished to
me… with unprepared
an average where accepted
can find a way to become
something worth coming;
for infinity wraps worth
in gold ribbon. reassurance
drips in honest tones
dreaming. we are together
in an unpredicted
Monica’s been thinking about falling again. Some people refer to it as a jump.
Monica believes that falling sounds much more graceful. Besides, who jumps asleep?
When Monica falls, she widens her arms and turns her head.
He had a similar grace to thunder. Long lightning limbs. Every time they touched she saw silver-blue.
It didn’t remind her of how you float. How you drift through the breeze stuffing pockets full of clouds. She once drew how you move in liquid gold ink across handmade paper.
She kept it.
Monica dreams in color. The first time she saw you, you were wearing an indigo shirt with violet stitches. Her eyes reminded you of the inside of an oyster shell you discovered on Sandringham Beach. Continue reading