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“You were a language I learned by ear,
syllables pressed into the curve of my neck,
intonations traced along my spine.
But love, I have forgotten how to conjugate us—
the past imperfect, the future conditional,
sentences unraveling into tenses
that no longer hold.”
― Saltwater & Smoke: Poems of Almosts, Goodbyes, and What We Leave Behind
syllables pressed into the curve of my neck,
intonations traced along my spine.
But love, I have forgotten how to conjugate us—
the past imperfect, the future conditional,
sentences unraveling into tenses
that no longer hold.”
― Saltwater & Smoke: Poems of Almosts, Goodbyes, and What We Leave Behind
“She stepped closer, close enough that the faint scent of coffee and something like cedar and ash clung to the air between them. Her tone was gentle, as though placing stones in a stream, guiding the water without disturbing it.”
― Her Name is Anarchy: a novella
― Her Name is Anarchy: a novella
“Mira smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s well put. Even Marx’s idea of the state ‘withering away’ still rests on centralization, on administration from above. And historically, that’s led to bureaucracy, elitism, and repression—counter-revolution in the name of revolution.”
― Her Name is Anarchy: a novella
― Her Name is Anarchy: a novella
“Yes,” she said. “Truth is what survives verification. Different tongues may call it different names — honesty, fidelity, justice, love — but when you strip language away, what you have left is material behavior. Action. Roots. The rest is perfume and poetry.”
―
―
“I wake reaching for you,
fingers curling around nothing,
closing on air thick with absence.
You are not here, but my body does not believe it.
It still flinches at the shape of you,
at the memory of weight no longer there.
Somewhere beneath my skin,
you still exist.”
― Saltwater & Smoke: Poems of Almosts, Goodbyes, and What We Leave Behind
fingers curling around nothing,
closing on air thick with absence.
You are not here, but my body does not believe it.
It still flinches at the shape of you,
at the memory of weight no longer there.
Somewhere beneath my skin,
you still exist.”
― Saltwater & Smoke: Poems of Almosts, Goodbyes, and What We Leave Behind
Alice’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Alice’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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