New Book out Now || Saint in the South. A little poem about my book/characters.
I’m the type to spark one,
let the smoke slow dance in my lungs,
hold it there ‘til my thoughts feel like syrup,
‘til my tongue heavy enough to taste the truth.
I ain’t never chased love—
I chase what’s warm,
what’s soft,
what’s there when the city lights hum quiet at 3 a.m.
I’m the ripple in lake water when the bass drops,
the flash that blinds you mid-smile,
the click that freezes you in time.
The night I met her,
she knocked my balance off and my camera down,
glass shatterin’ like it caught feelings.
I spit heat at her,
sharp enough to cut skin.
She threw it right back,
eyes sparkin’ like she’d been waitin’ on somebody to try her.
Weeks later,
I’m scatterin’ roses across a hotel suite,
red balloon letters floatin’ like a slow heartbeat,
candles breathin’ light against her shadow.
A heart of petals layin’ open on the bed,
and for once, I’m askin’ instead of takin’.
But the truth?
I was never built for safe havens.
I move fast.
I move selfish.
I move for the moment,
and moments don’t last.
I burned her.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Last time, she left pieces of me in her rearview,
and didn’t even check the mirror.
Months spun me back into her orbit.
She walked in like temptation wearin’ perfume,
some man’s shadow stuck to her back.
She cut my words in half.
Danced like my name never touched her lips.
I touched her like she was still mine.
Nights bled into mornings,
and somehow we found ourselves rebuilding—
ground rules, promise rings,
cleaner versions of two messy people.
And just for a second…
the world stopped movin’.
Everything felt warm,
golden,
perfect—
like the city itself was holdin’ its breath for us.
