at the mercy of my feelings

in the palm of your hand

you’ve got me.


headlights float outside my window

like UFOs or the goat-drawn

chariots of Norse gods.


I’ll spell these figment cuddles

and kisses into stars

imploding, melting at my fingertips.


this has happened too many

times and my smile has found its crease,

but there are too few promises left


to group like marbles,

rolling in the bottom of a bucket.



Polite Love Notes


The wind whips, whistling

outside my window. Dirty laundry

strewn across the bed,

my thoughts of you

sprawling over every spare surface.


The chill of January

draws to a close and here

I am, my imagination

drawing you close, closer.


Kissing ghost lips,

wishing beyond wishes,

pronouncing every “please”

as clearly as I can


because my hopes are climbing

out of my chest

onto this page, a canvas,

whatever they can reach


ever writing and rewriting

the poem that keeps you near me.



My Heart Thrums Like the Radio


Happy is hard to hold,

fling a rope and do your best

to tie it up tidy

take the flood captive.


But you unwound the spark,

tapping a rhythm

amid the ordinary colors

a dance of pulses and pearls.



Stealing Kisses in An Art Gallery


Dropping I love yous like candy pieces

licking up scraps of affection

whenever they are spared.


Glorying in the sound of

my own name, eyes closed in

reverence, basking in


the thickest fog and prettiest paint.

Stow the memories, the needless nostalgia,

for this moment has me lighter than air.



Cold Calligraphy


Something delicate,

something I could understand

like pink petals cascading

settling soft on pale skin –

blonde hair,

glimmering eyes.


Not anything like this cold –

a girl carving sentences,

her friends to fragments,

herself to pieces.

I would hold her but for all

the edges. But for

my wounds being cut

just as fresh, just as cleanly.


— Sarah Lucille Marchant (


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