Words live here.

Poetry and fiction in Writs
and non-fiction in Dust.

Some words aren’t mine.
Those can be found in Guests.

Your words can also live here. Send me an email to arrange a guest post. 



I wonder if it shows when I breathe
that I never rinsed the soap
that I stood in cooling water

I wonder if it shows
that you made me come out
without ever getting dressed

I wonder if
the faucet is still running
behind the pastel curtains

I see my stubborn foot
keeping the door from shutting close

your shoulders out of reach
my stare now torn
between walls within walls

a budge, but not a step
a tear, but not a sigh

naked, I can still smell the lather
freezing, I can now taste the heat

still I wonder
if it shows when I walk
if it shows when I eat
if it shows when I sing

I wonder if it will show
when I'll finally let go;

Masked as an exercise in structure and rhythm,
this simple writ still feels like a festering wound.

Rosa Nera Immortale

Rosa Nera Immortale