shrouded in lupine folds,
Red Riding Hood sleeps.




earth, she was;

stripping the falling words away

of all that was pregnant with sense.

out of her depths arouse

a scent, moist, enticing.

it hid, as nothing else could,

the rock the musk held within.




being strangers


the call wasn’t made.

typing, deleting, retyping,

and finally, definitely discarded,

the texts all had just a plea –

please come back! – but none was sent.

i count the hours you spent trying to sleep.

it’s obvious from the little flags of terror you leave for me in Facebook.

yet i know, never more clearly,

you are gone, there’s no us,

we are unlearning each other,

taking a crash course in being strangers.