seven scenes

I spent an evening
drinking gin and thinking thoughts.
New words came to me.

Sleep will beckon me,
though my pen still has stories,
I write in my sleep

A bowling pin sound –
the moment you hit my jaw
you apologized.

Gentleman caller …
so lovely in every way.
Until he ghosted.

Pencil holds my hair.
My hair falls to my shoulders
and I write my tale.

We were, all the things.
The world could not define us.
Then, fear seeded doubt.

Soon, our love became
more collateral damage
for our memory.