2.13.2015

I have a pianist's hands - long fingers - straight wrists - and a stretch that spans two notes above the octave a seer once held my hand and foretold three consuming loves, and none would remain by my side - after this last, I consider myself consumed - funny how the life line moves … Continue reading 2.13.2015

2.6.2015

tonight, it's the Blues that slow-doleful prayer for understanding - a measure of salt for the cheeks on a night spent by the window with a glass of something that burns (on the rocks, of course) and that solitary pine for companion tonight, it's the Blues, yes but tomorrow, I'll be Jazz

after sweetness

there is no more sweetness left of you - I put you up in pies and jams and devoured you with coffee, on toast, until there was nothing left but faintly sticky fingers, empty plate © Sarah Whiteley