are the obituaries to all the Hers I’ve ever been, and all the daily ways I’ve died.

They are my love letters to the souls of your feet, the knots in your stomach, the purr of the creation-tiger and all the ways you’ve tried to tame her.

They are the works-in-progress of my blood, the stories I want to bypass your brain, the words I want you to feel in your bones.

They are the dripping wet, silken threads webbing the space between womb and succulent cosmos.

They are my love notes.

Welcome, stranger.