You mess up my clean life with kisses, cherry juice and shards.
When I was in love with you, the sea would speak to me.
In his belly a fusion of fiercness and modesty.
Children are bonds made flesh.
Like in all good movies, the goodies and the baddies are only revealed at the end.
Don’t write me sonnets, write me letters. Rhyme is fickle. I want earth and bone.
Sometimes, I write with light.