This Morning Your Horses
walked beneath my window,
woke me with their warm, short
gusts, breathing come with us.
What I called love was letting
the loose dirt of someone else
crumble over me. Then you
called me out the window —
it’s not something I dig into
alone anymore.



Let’s dance in the mirror
and ’90s-montage
our outfit changes.
Spinning to Mazzy Star
in your red velvet,
pleather, mesh.

Let’s get our lace wet. Come,
braid my hair, get me ready,
brush gold into my eyebrows
until they glitter with malice,
sharpen your wings before
we put our bodies
out into the streets.



Baby blue wax accretes
on the wood of my desk,
gathering itself in invisible
increments. Wanting
to meet you all the time
is a sweet allowance of myself.
Without knowing it I’d sensed
that need was dangerous.
Now, I can see it building.
You say what I am, and I
have a chance to become it.