Iron/y

I'm sour for your whiskey. A free drink for me while it's pouring and wet palms motion zig zags saying, inside I feel ridges. Then I realize underneath I've been marked, "rain is falling looks like love." How funny is that? 

what i own that you use

introductions are settled as "arijana," it is only a matter of time before the echo of "ari!" follows me around clumsily, and i relish in the idea of enveloping relationships in warmth-- that strangers quickly feel the ease of dissecting my name to comfort me. and then it makes me stop. when i hear "arijana," and i want to make eye contact. i've never before thought of names as an instrumental force in intimacy, but if you have one, i am going to say it. 

Here

"And if you wanna walk away, I'll tell you all the things I know you want to hear."

a letter to love,

i know what its like to have you under my skin. feel your words and drink you with my eyes. almond shaped, swallow me whole in a pool of green. tonight i won't anger. i love your long hair. i don't understand, but i don't have to. you can be beautiful without me watching. you can be. just be. 

it's late, I come home flushed. Some unfinished business covers my bed, my room's a mess. I'm going to do my laundry. I've cooked dinner made out of anything that hasn't gone bad, could be a little bad, but if I add sriracha I won't be able to tell tomorrow for lunch.  first I'm going to do the laundry, then I'll write a poem. Something to do with forgiveness. For you, but also for me. On my way to work, I wondered if one can fall out of love as quickly as in? And how absurd it is to impose a metaphorical death on someone who's become a stranger. I guess I thought of it, because I am not sure if I should ask for a ceremony. A proper burial. I feel it should be free form. I would normally opt for some kind of rhythmic lettering, but I am too tired to breathe life into my own words, reading them over and over again, out loud; in hopes that you might hear me.