Feather-light, dust of time's decay,
In memories' grip, we find our way,
Beneath the starlist-laden sky,
Waves of longing in my mind's eye.
...
Pixie dust
Passion's prey
Teenage fiction
High school odyssey
...
In the still of night, I find myself in query,
Is this urban ‘abode' indeed, or just a ghostly theory?
Where do the echoes of familiar sounds now dwell?
Gossip, giggles, and huddling stories we used to tell.
...
The problem is a giant you carry in your skull,
its shadow pooling at your feet until you think
you are the shadow. But the heart knows better.
...
She watched his leaned-in tears.
Now — was another woman's woe,
Once she had told - the same story
Then he called her dramatic.
...