lipogram in the key of e minor

I slip

through hands soft as his.

tin roof thinkings

dusty books in rows upon rows.


might birds

grow fairy’s wings at night

and fall, crisp

into an old flight?


I’ll guard my crystals by day

spinning wavy tiny wordlings until nothing’s to say.

you don’t know how much you miss it

until you must.

what is an ‘us’ without any trust?


slick hair, glossy in his glaring last-try lights

I so wish I could touch it, all nymph-spun-gold, almost bright

as Christmas lights…


my twin brown windows focus in

and out

that world past the glass’

going all to orbs and arcs and twirls

just as I want it


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