the tell-toll patience it’s deafening silence sends prickly heat through the shaft of my spine; those nights of confusion and indigo questions throb through my skull at inopportune times. i want the consumption the raw devastation that patience and virtue must leave behind; so travel me further past bottle-green grottoes and quench the frustrations of …

some love

some love is a race a freight train running late, an s.o.s., scarlet sky requesting a kiss one is powerless to deny. some love brews low till it bubbles in time seasoned with knowing crimson dew. 3.20.02 © Eliza Alys Young