Dreams of electric sheep convolute as whispers slip through rusted shadows;
fear tangos dangerously with sweet, warm intentions.
What is joy amid phantom terracotta frogs leaping?
The shrill laughter echoes — now painting canvases of nebulas.
Did they speak of oranges, or was it just a flash of inhospitable stars?
How far does despair radiate within sunflower blooms?
Link to teapots
I've met strangers who recite love songs to a battered piano,
while I ponder silence on vibrant Tuesdays,
suffocating under unseen weight.
Amidst the duplicity of cream and ink signed,
precisely how does the heart shatter?
Unsent letters
Dreams of sand slipping through open palms continue spiraling,
as we dance in the detritus of yesterday's clouds.