Everything I Can't See / Is At

Connubial Because With Alarming Accuracy She’d Been Identifying Patterns I Was Unaware Of—this Tic, That Tendency, Like The Way I've Mastered The Language Of Intimacy In Order To Conceal How I Felt— I Knew I Was In Danger Of Being Terribly Understood.

Isn't There A Curious Elegance In How One Moment Passes Into Another?

When I Stop Becoming, That's When I Worry.

All Good Poems Are Victories Over Something.

I’ll Always Deny That I Kissed Her. I Was Just Whispering Into Her Mouth.