I hope you fight with your mother when you have a migraine, / I hope there's a holud ceremony playing item songs right beside your building

at night I look past my window / moon like a bruise hoisted on the shoulder of onlookers / as they draw their curtains

you don't recognise yourself, / everything is lost like a fish in Lethean space. / you have mistaken truth for love again

Here are a few things I learned in the one month we haven’t spoken

I’m but a butterfly, not a bird; Why do I want to soar high?

Tell me I am not a house without exits. Leave

Where there's no scent of mother, but only a sweet sense of comfort in the touch I remember the warmth of my mother's lap

I jump from ship to ship, / fly dangling from the claws  of a huge bird in the sky / till my toes scrape mountain-tips. 

It’s been so long since we last spoke that I don’t think I can talk to you without confessing something. There you were, standing before me

Wishing you a happy new year! / The coming year? No, years ahead—

When I come to you, I become a tree  Trees have roots 

My heart is an oligarch: A staunch, pot-bellied, knuckle-cracking middle-aged man lounging carelessly, lazily  in his sitting room with his limbs spread out on a settee

The first pulse, in the midst of a whipping maelstrom, 

Do you want my hands / Will they be enough to keep you warm

It is impossible to distinguish when, but I think My loss of faith coincided with your arrival

"Love" did not have me at 'hello' Nor does it cure the cries

Words have crashed onto your shores

Kissing strangers only feels good

Your gaze, a dagger, cuts through me

I needed to de-escalate.