Assassination of Love   bullets split sides pristine blame magic disappears the doves   peace is a wounded hope its life's blood shedding red splotched feathers   a molting desire to come together seems to have flown away    a dead wish.     erin-cilberto 9/13/25

On the edge of your waking dreams  let me trace the sun rise upon your skin  this could be painting-by-numbers  but my only palette are tongue and fingers    I could lie here through hibernation  turning the dit.com sitcom to fade,  your head resting on my...