Sitting in sunlight
hitting my head
on the brown cushion
cream colored pillow to the bottom of my back
Stay making its way through the flat
via E’s voice
Sam’s streaming
telling me to look for the one
to turn attention upon itself

“It’s not something you take,
it’s given.”

It started off like always
Font, music, Helen Robins
Then read like the theater

Sitting on edge,
unsure of the ledge
A minute, then fast decline
turned the picture gray
She hung up the phone
and killed with envy
Put on red lipstick and her white dress
with the dimming of the lights
she was indifferent to her actions

Her dreams were neither him nor his
Her child’s flame burns bright
at the edge of the sea

he lay his head on me
Slight green slants
Staring to disarm
Sadness in his words
Simplicity in mine