when did it feel like plums?
the first time you pulled my lip.
when did the breeze come to life?
the first time you lifted my skirt.
sorrow now for the jade screen
in my hand wishing for your smooth
skin and muscled back.
must I love you like this? alone
at night fingering the beads
in my mind as a weary train traveler
blindly does to pass the time. At will.
what’s the word for ice melting?
how much love’s in spittle?
and when's the season for plums?
NaPoWriMo 2 & 3 for IGWRT
