Ajanta Judd 

She walks not to arrive but to listen to the rustle of eucalyptus breath, to the whisper of the dying, to the hum of ancestral chords

I am only satisfied when it burns cold When the brittle edge of the chill Kisses heat’s searing mouth To the west, to the east, the north an

If, in love’s bitter afterglow you were to spread a sea of jewels at my feet and once more spray me with emphatic words of love and...

From a 2020, 24 hour Poetry Marathon that I participated in. I wrote one poem each hour for 24 hours straight. There was no prompt for...