I am eternally in awe of those who craft poetry. I cannot do it, and I find its creation as powerful as the creation of sparkling gemstones.

Eight dark smudges
indelible beneath skin
a quartet nestled
beside each hip bone.

The staggering of words, the linebreaks… all to create artistically with both what is written, and what is not.

Small purple anemones
bloom under my jawline,
in the crook of my arm
and just next to
my left nipple.

Positive and negative, what is present and what is absent, is, to me, poetry.