ZoeBee

I've often thought that riting wrules were wridiculous
How strange that pears were paired and pared
A widower should make widows, not the other way around
There is no such thing as a made up wordie
As soon as you say it

I am from paper and ink,
From swiffer jets and tearless shampoo
I am from a calm house on a calm street that jests at sanity as a wolf in sheep’s clothing masquerades as safe
I am from petals and sea-tumbled glass

Tacenda
(Ta-chen-da)
Plural Noun: Things that are best left unsaid
My name
Yours
Together
Tacenda

 

Stare at the bibliobibuli 
The creature recedes into its briar-book patch
Eyes large and unblinking
Tongue as black and thick as ink
She 
(It is almost always a she)
Is a crepuscular creature 

And I smile resignedly at the bottom of the barrel
"Hello again, old friend."

If you could taste the air around me
You'd know the taste of yearning
For lodged in my oropharnyx
Something red is burning
Her name's Kathleen
I had a dream
She begged to be released
I didn't know how to let her out