The bones remember more than flesh allows: Each rib a record of a whispered past,

I vowed to you I would stay wild knowing you loved my teeth  except when they chased other flesh

The afternoon we met, she joked about being a narcissist. It was one of the qualities that attracted me to her—a woman unaccompanied by the threat of permanence.

This language can't find anything that rhymes with orange.

He’s smaller than I expected. They always are. The stillness shrinks them. The room smells like lilies and furniture polish.

By Ángel Ruby Vásquez Angel Ruby Vasquez is a writer, actor, filmmaker, and poet-storyteller dedicated to the craft of inspirational creative writing. His work spans film, radio, fashion media, and education. He has worked as a camera assistant, public radio announcer, media director, educational facilitator, and substitute teacher.   Angel Ruby Vasquez es escritor, actor, cineasta y poeta-narrador, dedicado al arte de la escritura creativa inspiradora. Su trabajo abarca el c

Like a dry fallen leaf blown by

At dawn, I press my palms to cold glass, watching the corridor stretch like an empty sky. Charts flutter: life, pulse, breath; each tick of the clock heavier than the night.

The road bends, broken in places, mud clinging to tire treads. Storm debris waits like memory:

The air once full now slips away unseen, Each inhalation measured, frail, and slight. We mourn the quiet life that might have been.