the way you smell when you are naked
is different from the way you smell
when you are dressed

deep heavy musk
that slithers down my throat

white cloth stained with tears
(my eyes leak when i lay down)

i’d inhale this cotton forever if i could


gray is the warmest color

last night we talked about colors
you said “i like gray”
i said i prefer blue
like the shirt i wore that rode up
tight cloth and my nipples on your chest
straddling your hips like they were the world,
my world, in a pair of faded chords

gray is the warmest color
when it pulls across your pelvis
like the way i pulled your hand
down an ash-colored street
new york city in the winter
mazzy star and black tea and
your dusty peacoat
held tight against the cold

i want to know everything there is to know about you
i want to feel every place there is to feel within you

the first time we touched it was dark
and i wore a gray dress that i never wear
tight, an outline of my abdomen, the curves,
that slope of my lower back,
and i was so aware of it,
the way my hips looked,
the way you watched me walk away

now we are naked
and when i press my face against your chest
and say “i like you”
what i’m really saying is
“i love you”

last night we talked about colors

my mouth is a megaphone
your body is a forest
& i will shake the birds from your trees
like their beaks do the worms
at your toes.


humidity on the mortar
makes you smell sweeter
than the fountains —
faucets who beg
for me to drink
ruins are crumbling

new york,
brooklyn is mine
for the taking.
all is gold & green
my eyes can see your
light(s) shining
from miles away

in the morning i fry eggs
& they are the same
across continents
across worlds

good morning
good morning

the earth is the same
no matter where you are
on it