Trollhood

I didn’t become a troll on purpose. It happened after the falling in love was done, when the fog filled costal valleys, when the silver tarnished and you no longer saw me in the silvery light of a spoon.

B.F.M.

When to Bluff

My love, we’ve become an ordinary poker hand, 

a pair of threes thinking we were a flush.

B.F.M.

Cistern

Cut glass distorts your eyes and my seeing. We continue on, as if the cistern hadn't been rotated and filled with ice. We practiced — okay and fine; two amateur ping pong players in a polite warmup.

B.F.M.

Jealousy

Brown goo, 
sepia seeping 
under currents
squeezed between
teeth.

B.F.M

Trail Map Lament

I found 
an old trail map
of yours.

The one with polkadots
and trails highlighted
in bright star pink.

Yet no matter how closely
I followed it, 

it

never 
led me 
back to you.

B.F.M.