things that cause me to love the colors yellow

the type of star that is our sun

my hair, if i had to choose a crayon for it

mustard, although spicier is more akin to brown

complimentary to indigo, but hard for scientists to define as such

gold bangles

runny yolks

mac and cheese of childhood: mom’s recipe with shells

thick knits

how it looks with periwinkle

the impossibility of hating it

my pilates ball

my beanbag chair

my obnoxious headphones

my obnoxious pseudo-obsession with gudetama

the right lighting is never white

plus white wine really isn’t very white at all

leaves soft but dead and fallen

legal pads embossed in black ink

the pages of the books which smell the strongest

twinkles lost in turquoise

my goldfish, dead at 8 years old

bananas with great-grandpa in the morning

applesauce before i learnt to chew

my inability to wear it well unless it’s deep hued

autumn

ancient art

saffron

pineapples in styrofoam in saigon

hints in ginger, cumin, turmeric

city lights

caution

that submarine

and the magic school bus too

my first examples of alleged gender neutrality

play-doh

nachos

the six foot sunflower of my weekend youth

number two pencils

my nyc metrocards

beaks

glaze

the chalkprints on my grade school teachers’ slacks

curry, but not my favorite kind

gildedness

gaudiness

the feeling of light in a windowseat

communication

how i know it’ll go with crimson

the light off the atlantic as it hits your pale eyes

clarity, joyfulness

the guitar pick i never used enough to know

ikea bags full of hopes for playing grown-up

giraffes

lemons

being seen, being bright, being wanted

its hints at creaminess

its refusal to not help me to see


spray and pray

tickets are sought. some are bought. and there are times even these

moments thoughtfully forheld are missed.

there are seats empty waiting for prostration.

there are bodies prostate far before their time.

there are relationships shattered,

reservation plaques on linens gathering dust.

there are suites heavy with bouquets,

abandonment or too late indecision forking paths.

there are openings emptier,

canapés clustering, questions dead before they’re asked.

there are sunsets never climbed for,

a variant first to claim tripod in place;

there are mechanical snaps taken in their stead,

thought comes after, spray and pray.

a waste, a waste, such wasted fate

but judgment is not reserved for the ticketed.

at least while you’re above ground,

there will always be the next love and more art.

wishlist

  1. space held and holding

  2. love reciprocated in a spectrum of surprises

  3. trust mounting me to deep rooted subtropical trees

  4. collapsed time,

  5. a steady breeze,

  6. clear shade and sun

  7. fear released—reserved for body + mind in worship

  8. true self-care the only concern

  9. music sustaining,

  10. engaged eyes,

  11. attentive touch

  12. contributing,

  13. cackling,

  14. connecting

  15. safety alone, in two, in a tribe

  16. tastebuds satiated

  17. climaxes uncountable

  18. cool rain right when it’s wanted

  19. the scent of lushness throughout the night

  20. pulchritude in interdimensional waves


contained

if only the pink and white translucency wrapped around your soft hands held me instead

if i were bluish green would my feeding off dirt and sunshine concern you gently

if only my hands and feet were soft enough to play along—i can be inviting


if i were rooted grey and thick would my gravity disobey shadows locked in unnecessary skull

if only i could let my body be with you in dayspring unexpectedly

if only i could shake my mind’s nests free before seven a.m. nightmares


if i were to allow my morning mouth to loosen around sounds of insecurity and hope

would the burning scent i initiate instead be so damn enticing


unwanted

i couldn’t make you fall in love with me

unwanted orchids, you left me ceiling dazed so

now i don't really care


solo sheet tossing, semi hoping you’ll appreciate me

i know it's kinda dumb when morning’s done and

i couldn’t make you fall in love with me


ignoring plans and heaving hope, left to my own devices

i felt a build up; if you feel it, it could be meant to be? nah

—now i don't really care


i find you sucking smoke, eating words at the back of the party

i’m speaker bound, been begging you to come my way, but

i couldn’t make you fall in love with me


you were running round rain drenched over there

i got myself soaked waiting for you to embrace me, so

now i don't really care


take your sighs, swoons, needing stares elsewhere, elsewhere

—are you better babe?

i couldn’t make you fall in love with me

—now i don't really care?

NB: text incorporated from the lyrics of Arlo Parks’ ‘Cola’ and Yuni’s ‘Fall in Love’