Katrina Kaye
at 4 am you
can’t sleep
anymore
with slow movements
gentle touch
you slip out of blanket
into cold stale air
I do not wake
yet I discern
your absence
my body chases
the warmth
yours
left behind
“left behind” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).
Katrina Kaye
I come to you
warm and bleeding.
Raw and unbleached.
A slice across Achilles tendon,
unfelt shave of skin
that gushes ripe,
and drips footprints across
your Persian rug.
An invitation to follow.
I come with tact in hand,
spotting handshake,
staining interwoven lifelines.
The kindness presented to me
stabbed through palm.
In anticipation of your cold hands
and medicinal lips,
I offer a sun burn across my thighs.
A collection of rain drops
held tight in Mason jar.
I bring rose gardens
guarded by chain link fence
and two rows of razor wire,
an empty bottle
with my lipstick on the neck,
a cloche spouting sparrow feathers,
a jockey’s whip,
and an ex lover’s name
tattooed on skin that has
never seen the heat of flame.
You never ask where I’ve been;
You tend scratches,
recite a romance of battle
with gravel in your throat.
Show me two broken ribs,
and a bootleg audio of a concert
I was too drunk to remember.
You reciprocate generosity
with lean strokes of your stare
across my worse for wear face,
and whisper how my split nails,
calloused heels, and reckless speech
made you a better man.
“I come to you” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).
Katrina Kaye
The moon’s calm broke,
spilling elusive shades
over the sky’s backdrop.
I remember how we hurried.
Skirted over rocks and rivers,
caught butterflies in our teeth
and squeezed grasshoppers in our toes.
It was minutes till sunrise,
when the world was at its blackest.
We were enveloped,
just the two of us,
stolen from the wake of the world.
With slippery fingers
we climbed the crevasse,
hoping arms would not give out
demanding our gasps and split fingernails
lift us just a little bit higher.
Upon the apex,
we watched rising mist
begin to sink beneath the orange glare
of a breaking sun.
It was the first time you told me
you loved me.
We sat at the edge of the world,
hanging our feet off granite ledge
and tried to touch the surreal with
impulsive fingers still flecked
with green and bits of insect.
“What we brought” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).
Chasing Rabbits 
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