By Valentina Cano

Sun

What I feel is a skinning.
Peeling of gossamer veils,
rivulets of lace
collapsing to the floor
with every second
in front of you.
Like the sun,
you kill me in layers.
And when the world dims
and night with its moon and its water
rises above it all,
I’m left in pieces.
My shredded memories
writhing in foam.

Tightrope

It’s unending,
this line I walk across.
It is too dark to see in front of me,
a coffee bite to the air around me.
The world is throbbing with words
you’ve already said
and will say again,
moments multiplying like echoes,
so that I can’t feel
my way through anymore.
There’s no light.
None to guide me out.
And I know I will fall,
grappling for sheets of your voice.

Mania

It is night and the fires have stopped.
Smoke curls around me,
cocooning me in its velvet touch,
I wish it were always like this,
a soft drifting of thoughts,
a languid toss of memories
and words spoken by other mouths.
But it is not.
I know the fires will be stoked tomorrow,
the light reaching into my mind’s every corner,
scorching it raw.