Fingertips spelled trysts on my inner thigh-
My Paramour,
and I tried to catch each secret letter
but it is the freckle, the one above his eye,
where my mind tends to linger.

There is something delicate about sun-kissed lovers.
A promise, of sorts, that maybe someday,
you could both walk in the morning light together.

So between our heavily happy sighs,
and through my wild, humid hair -
I pass that quick flash of a smile,
agreeing to meet again.

17 mosquito bites as blemishes of evidence,
I tiptoe back into my sleeping house,
careful to make my way around the worn, hardwood floors.

My pulse beats out curse words down to the stairs,
though, my heart is rather fond of these obstructions -
despite my shaking hands.

As I pull back the sheets,
one fleeting moment of panic- How must I smell?
Like sticky, midnight, summer sex and a hint of an unnamed lover?
Yet my mind hugs my guilt, warmly;
turning all those anxieties into a sweetly hummed lullaby.


I spread myself out upon the cold and empty bed.
Contently, I reside alone.
My moonlit room abruptly shifts my focus -
Staring up at me
two, tiny, tan lines on my ring finger:
My manumission.

and I smile at my collection of affairs
allowing each of them to pursue-
to win-
to dream-
and to believe the Morse code is dangerous.

This electric shard of lightening is merely an illusion
it comes quick
and it goes by fast

It is not their fault,
as they do not know-
that if they had all of me,
they would not desire me anymore.









Thus, I am inclined to practice magic.