#newsappho

[soulsingerinasessionband]

October sun shines on her high cheekbones, Yellow upon yellow upon yellow as it illuminates The wool of the saffron sweater that falls to her knees And as it warms her halo of golden hair. She is home, but I am but a guest: I have not yet asked to stay the night. Love is fresh-baked bread in her sunny kitchen The aroma creating safety as I walk, In my socks, across the tacky linoleum of life And find myself wishing to be in her arms. She says that she is not beautiful. If only she knew.

“longing for her is a different kind of yellow” // r.w., 2017

my chapbook, amor mellitarum, is on sale now! you can get it here

[theshortnailsclub-blog]

Her head on my chest, hair vibrating with every breath-- peace but no rest.

SB

[orewriting-blog]

And I’m replaying it all in my head, every night. Every night. You had a look on your face like you were always staring at a sunrise, always finding beauty in a fresh start. Maybe that’s why when you left you didn’t look back. Maybe that’s why I’m staying up thinking of you when I know you’re not thinking of me. Maybe I care about you more now than I did when I had you. Maybe we were too young, these wounds too fresh, these notions too new to make them into something bigger than ourselves.

o.r.e. //these kind of new experiences don’t always work out, do they?

[orewriting-blog]

her lips were coarse, cracked skin from biting down when her father preached hate at the dinner table but when they found my neck it felt like heaven, like pretty secrets and fresh love and maybe forgetting it all for a while I could always see an ocean in her eyes, deep and dark and full of things that I would never know god, I could’ve spent a lifetime by her side and I don’t think I’d ever reach the depths of her, ever find the underground of her smile, the storm hidden between her teeth.

o.r.e. //ocean

[poemsbymary]

there was something about her i told myself it was just that i liked her better than my other friends - everyone has a favorite that the way i felt whenever she touched me was a desire for friendship, and nothing more there were days when i found myself walking a little closer to her than all my other friends moments when my heart would quicken at the sound of her voice and no one elses and during childish games i always laughed a little bit louder when she was the one cracking the jokes at sleepovers we’d lie side by side, always aching to touch but hesitant, always so hesistant, for reasons i did not understand. it wasn’t until years later, walking through a haunted house her clutching my arm as if for dear life, and me clutching hers because it felt good to hold her, that i realized why i always felt a little different when i said her name.

grace, or the first time i fell in love