literary womanhood

I want to write like a whisper, a kiss, the breathless second after one —

[v-e-celle]

Manila Bay.

[v-e-celle]

I kissed him like drinking honey from a bowl.

[v-e-celle]

let there be rain

2016.

in what day was rain ever called to existence, in that voice you hear behind your head proclaiming, let there be rain, let heaven take from the sea what it could in way of cleansing, and in this telling, to let the sky have no longer use for it than release. then the translation of an older language to new ways we could express ourselves in? in rain we close our eyes to broken music, or parts of the sky falling for us to open our mouths and say thanks be to god. or, if you have once mistaken the rain for music no longer broken by things such as a kiss, or whatever you have known the rain for, then sit by the window and think this same rain brought the world’s end through flood and in these forty days we mourn,    on the surface now, what the earth keeps    on the surface still, what the sky could not hold