I read a chapter of your book,
made some notes in the margins,
left strands of my hair to mark the pages
where I appeared.

I sip the words like holy water,
drunkenly compose letters
on scraps of paper I keep hidden under my bed
in a box labeled "revisit"
--and I do, over, and over, and often.

Sometimes I pick up my pen and
set it down again,
suddenly lost in a conversation,
a spilled coffee,
the smell of burnt cloves
on your fingers and your mouth.

I know how it ends,
still torn over wanting to be a recurring character and not just a
filler scene.
Tonight,
I'll content myself with being a memorable subplot
written into a salty-sweet dream.

Maybe I dream too hard, and why I wake up exhausted

In the nighttime I slip out
of my skin
to go dancing with other skeletons,
my bones a lovely pearl,
our fire opalescent.
We dance on rooftops and in parking lots,
under silver moons,
like visions
rattling and rolling--
it's almost obscene.
Darling,
come dance with me.

Bring your left feet
and we'll find you a right pair
with ivory inlay and
jazz in the marrow.
Join our congregation,
this is our nightly sole-prayer to
soothe the flames that consume our souls during the day.
We clatter-clatter and
heal the cracks--you'll see.
Come and dance with me, darling,
on the balance beam of a dream.
Before the sun seals us up again,
before we break wide open.

I stumble through a spiderweb,

memories sticky and spun beautifully.

What can I do when

every thought is of you

and what could have been?
 

I make my rounds down the hours and up again,
a quarter past ten we stopped by the woods, talked about the future,

at one-thirty we shared a meal,

at six we shared your bed,
spoke in tongues

with our clothes on and our souls half-dressed as we grasped at flesh,

my novice hands spinning a tapestry imminently shred.

Time has slowed,

it loops in geometric angles

around my head.

I've learned to tiptoe,

tread lightly around the edge in search of escape.

We were a work of art, dear,
spun with a skein that emptied too abruptly,
but why ruin a precious, temporal thing?
Now, I let our web collect dewdrops and shimmer like silver threads in the morning sun;
then one day it will be gone,

it's memory a perfect imprint in the corner of my smile,
remembered
between my fingers and my touch.

let whatever love comes your way heal you. it may not be how you want it or as much as you need. but even a little bit can be a salve. is honey. is healing. so take it. accept it graciously. let it settle in your heart and flow through your being. until all of you is touched by it. and you are better for it.

drowning

i can still taste your tongue,

an ocean warmed by the sun,

crashing lips that kiss the shore
over
and

over
in waves that knock the back of my knees

so that i fall forward and

am pulled out to sea.

your mouth tastes like drowning.

salty, wounded, and so sweet.



-3.23.14

seasons

we took root in the winter sun,

pretended we'd survive until autumn.

summer was a sweet dream of sweat-sticky backs and syrupy tongues.

today is the first day of spring.

last week was our ending.



-03.20.2014

The Nightingale and The Starling

I turned into a bird
so I could sing you my songs,
but when you sang back
I couldn't understand a thing.

You were a nightingale,

and I, a starling.