Love is a game
of tic-tac-toe,
constantly waiting
for the next x or o.

Before I fell
in love with words,
with setting skies
and singing birds—
it was you I fell
in love with first.

There is safety in numbness–
there is solace
in sleep.

She lends her pen,
to thoughts of him,
that flow from it,
in her solitary.

For she is his poet,
And he is her poetry.

I don't think all writers are sad, she said.
I think it's the other way around—
all sad people write.

You were you,
and I was I;
we were two
before our time.

I was yours
before I knew,
and you have always
been mine too.