my hands will never graze another's skin-
i would sooner
o f f
|so you think you can love me and leave me to die?|
matchlesssometimes people leave and you just
can't do anything about it.
they leave behind a chill in the air where
their body warmth used to be
and you can light fires and candles and
shine spotlights in place of them
but it will never feel the same.
i learned that the hard way.
he decided one morning that he was ready
and i saw it in the shadows in his eyes and
i decided i wasn't ready to let him.
he brought kerosene in
water bottles and hid
matches in his jacket pocket and tried to burn the bridges
but i put them out with extinguishers and
painted over the burn marks so i could pretend
they weren't there.
he felt bad because he didn't want to hurt me and
i felt bad because i didn't want him to be hurting but
i didn't want to be hurting either even though i knew
one of us was going to get burned by the end of it
(there shouldn't have been any question of who
it would be, but
i was desperate and i didn't want him to leave)
so there was no communication.
he did all he could to bring i
an atheist's guide to grieving youi. let your soliloquies be private,
a prayer to trees and trees alone--
tuck it away:
that song by the kills,
muffled sex under blankets,
apologies through gritted teeth
ii. when the news arrives,
remember this was not special.
a hundred other girls spoke
into his mouth,
felt the blue valley
of his collarbone
but say nothing
as they stumble over his pronoun
& still pinch tiny rainbow pins at his funeral.
iv. flinch every time you see an ongoing truck
v. remember him at all the wrong times:
drunk with friends,
vii. put that record on
every stranger wears a crownevery man believes
himself a lion
master of some empire,
forever the subject of his own sentence:
to live life from the inside out.
Brunchin the search for love, you overstepped
your boundaries bad for business
you browbeat your heart's heads
and sever its strings
with your plague-paled overtures of peace
psychosomaticwhen reality fails to meet your expectations,
you force it.
and I'm left in the aftermath, making
while you seek static to soothe the stomach you don't have for this.
amalgamblender mixed and brilliant,
less than erudite but memory serves us,
bleed me green and orange, this anarchy between us
is worth it, and embracing carbon from your blood
gets me into you, around, inside -
more air between me and you than anyone before it
broken lights and blocked glass windows for us to feed,
in the first person
not anti-climactic, but at the bottom of the reaction
wish we'd catalyze, but we asked for this
stirred into mixing rain water and sin,
"fucked you good," you said, and intermittently the radio
off-beatwhat are we here for, darling?
the games we play pull
and push like a tug-of-war.
but there is no fun here
and we are hardly children.
love is a desolate drum
in the middle of the chest.
and i don't know if it's mine,
mind, or yours anymore.
love is an inescapable hum
in the middle of my throat.
and i don't know if i want to sing
or if i want to slice drafts free
from the base of my neck.
the hang is luring,
from lips alluring.
with whispers that linger
softly in the air
and i'm hang-
ing on the edge
of your next words.
old muse, new views
this poetic motion
with a hummingbird quickness
that auras over my eyelids.
janus janus another god satellite too far awaynomenclature nomenclature
let my miniature universe
that you godship peak into
some actual existence.
maybe???? your hands
are everything i needed
maybe your hands maybe your hands
maybe repetitious maybe your hands
maybe i am obsessive
maybe this isn't lyrical
maybe nomenclature musculature
making my miniature universe
in god's ship in god's silhouette.
silo hues in the grain
of your waist lined hands,
i am a lonely mess
that can't see that far
into the distance,
but i see you
in my immediate plane.
and you won't let me fly,
you won't let the lines
level flush into your mouth,
swallow my love, swallow my love,
swallow my love.
dire views in the shame
of my waste lined hands,
i am a lonely mess
that can't be that mar
into the essence,
but i see you,
in my immediate vein.
and you won't let me die,
you won't let the guides
level hush into my house,
wallow my dove, wallow my dove,
wallow my dove.
like so many grains of sandi can't recreate that passive longing,
that solemn sea-breeze pain
that seemed to stretch out forever
(it must have grown
i knew you were there).
no matter how much distance i covered
i was always led back here -
i'd known, but forgotten a million times -
that a circular path will never reach
you were too far away to slip through my fingers,
i only ever touched air,
and the scent from the breeze i inhaled -
it curled into my chest,