Water spills from my edges –

rose petal skin unfolding

like french kisses and sweetness.


I am a tree whittled 

to pale, raw bark glimmering

in moonlight as she tells me every secret

of every star, and ink blooms –


foliage words curling themselves

wistfully around every inch of me.


I write love letters to myself 

in blues, peaches, pinks

and seal them with blood

come honey gold. 


And I love, I love and love.



A poem I wrote about turning 26 last month.

Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

3 thoughts on “Twenty-six

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