lines of poetry found in my notes app

silhouettes illuminated by christmas lights

venom drips from my lips disguised as honey,
the way my grandmother tells me: “cute hair. did you dye it
yourself? I prefer you as a blonde” 

— outside
the smoke is so thick it hides
the mountain, and inside I rest
on a stool.

have you ever smelled a ripe fig that has sat
under the california sun? 

coffee grounds dusting my jeans and milk in the air