Barely Visible Indentations   They were always such delicate and pretty little indentations, that I could never quite get my head around, nor fully understand why she ever tried to hide them in the first place .. After all, they served only to mark briefly...

Frigid, calm front hides in northern winds, the vast sky of my bedroom dims. Stream in winter Iced over, mother’s embrace letting go at bedtime.   Still raining, sky’s dark pillow, eyelids become anchors, smothering.   The cold front blanketing these damp lids, peacefully covers the coming storm.

Where do you gowhen you climax?I feel your body beneath me,but your presence driftssomewhere else,untouched by hands. Ah… petit mort,the little death. If death is truly so sweet,why do we tremble before it?