Urge

It is like the ticking clock, unheardin the corner of a room – caughtbefore a full rotation the walnut scroll work liftingas each breath grows in anticipationsinking as nostrils expel melancholyinto the pause, the widening gapbefore the chime

A senryu affair

carriage rollsthe rhythm of linesfluttering chest two moons in frontand to my back ablazing sun a mane tosstwo crescent moonslie waiting a cotton cloudtwo moons are eclipsedbut the sun! I know my mindlike the grooves in your browand yet, and yet…