Staying Alive

Rupert’s hand would always go to his pocket when his sensibilities strayed too far beyond the fray. His focus would glaze, amber irises dimming like the telltale signs of life slowly ebbing from a character in a tragic film. He’d rub the things sheltered in his left pocket. Three rubiginous balls. Cold, plastic shells cocooning… Continue reading Staying Alive


What Isn’t

His touch was always like a phantom wind. A zephyr grazing her cheek. As if he was afraid fire would trail his hand and burn her. And he always kept his distance whenever they walked together. Careful that their hands never bumped or brushed together. The subtlety of his avoidance perplexed her. But she would… Continue reading What Isn’t



We watched the shadowsStretch and entangle themselvesFolding into each other over the beige wallsLike secret loversLured by the pearl-tongued murmursOf the moonWhile the wind danced and whistled coollyBy the window And we were still by each other --Silent and supine--Our chests in tandemWith echoes of our soft breathPulling in anxietyRattling our rib cagesFor sleep couldn’t… Continue reading Puberty