m e d i t a t e


winter morn in bed

sounds of expelled air + heat

cross-legged while you sleep


particles of food

a magnificent tower

more than one cycle


a small, enclosed room

clean piles of shoes, clothes, supplies—

lightness in your smile


soft guitar + voice

inhale—exhale—close your eyes

quick thoughts through the space


just the two of us,

reclining on the futon;

all-day Pokemon


brown tips bend to earth,

bowing gracefully to youth:

beauty in neglect


caramel water

sharp, metallic aftertaste;

morning ablutions




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