Secret

Elbows catch, a blur and a lack
Of precision. No blood, small jolts,
Another homeless hope slips.
Trivial. I pick it back up, determined,
Before the wind blows it away.

One less nobody single, and I
Imagine the air around your mouth, you,
Imagine kissing me the story of your life.
Slow down and don't leave out any details.
Some things are out of focus already
And your voice is a secret.

I've traveled far to get here,
Moved slowly enough to melt
And change shapes.
So I did, as I am wont to do.
Sculptor, be kind. Use your hands.
I like traveling to you.

Thirst masquerades as anger
Masquerading as comfort and
Everything changes. Everything.
I want my name to ring like a song,
I want my voice to be the breeze.
This road drives me and not the way
Around. I've got mixed feelings
About my perspective. It washes over
My sleep in focus and
I go under.

Happy faces finding each other
In public places, a comfort of some kind,
Invisible and obvious. Envious. Still,
In that sliver between sobriety and sleep,
Alive, aching with reason and logic
Before the reset of dawn. Anxious to wake,
Anxious again to sleep.

Certain details of your life
Are not lost on me, stranger.
Details as the day ends,
Almost the same sky, almost
The same select moon.
Sculptor be kind, use your hands,
I've traveled long and

I've traveled far to get here.
Moved slowly enough to melt
And change shapes.
So I did, as I am accused of doing.
Sculptor, be kind. Use your hands,
Gently.

All My Lovers Are Flowers

Cold hands and leftovers,
Discomfort, collateral damage. What of it?
Don't bite your nails. Hide your face.
A small imagined sweep of hair
Softly, mine from behind.

Sleep your pattern,
Sleep your surrender,
Sleep your matter.

History outgrew me in time
Then the first snowfall. What is it you want?
What is it you're not getting?
Don't think I haven't noticed
You don't sleep.
What is it you need?

All my lovers are flowers.
The thirst gets the best of everyone.

I could only take so much of the distance,
I could only take so much of those small things
That only existed on the back of envelopes,
Torn, illegible and true.
I begged you to stop picking at your skin, I begged you
To take me elsewhere, I begged you to
Take me home. You never found the words.

All my lovers are flowers.
It wasn't that big of a deal
But I never really got over it.
You set me free but I didn't take flight.
Domesticated, docile and bound.

Sleep your matter, woman.
Sleep your soundtrack,
The mystery, the cold liquid.

Sleep the sighs…

I tried to help,
I begged you to take me elsewhere,
I begged you to take me home.
It wasn't that big of a deal
But I never really got over it.

Sleep your silence,
Sleep your surrender.
Sleep your matter, woman.
Sleep your matter.

The Girl Who Finds Everything

It was more than one year ago, practically two,
When all the clocks stopped.
Primal and disorganized, I levitated.
Just a few inches, really. Nothing much.
I misplaced, then later found, small things.
Pale, I turned to you. You were there
But tried not to be. Your absence was a statement
In itself. You stopped coming by.

The year I lost control,
I made you perfect.

In between songs I heard waves. I tried to explain it.
Maybe it was traffic or trains in the distance.
This was the year we misplaced
The personal space between us. I spun,
And lost my momentum. I jumped ship.
Sleep is a thief and my allegiance is thin.

(Behave yourself, girl. That's no way to manage your appetite.)

I manipulated time to keep your scent lingering.
In hindsight, I kept things in order.
Everything was arranged, just in case.
I almost stopped remembering my hands in your pocket
Taking shelter.

Into the womb of flannel and down,
I’ve learned to pray to the keeper of dreams.
Sleep is a thief and my allegiance is thin.

The year I cried myself to sleep
I made you perfect.

That whole thing about time,
Time heals, time passes,
Well, sometimes it's just not true.

There is nothing like feeling the heartbreak yourself,
There is nothing like death so near
To question the end of every life, the inevitable loss
Of every single loved one.

(Behave yourself, girl. That's no way to manage your fear.)

There are no words that sound real until the words
Become your glass shattering, your world freezing,
Until someone tells you to go, just go,
Because you no longer belong wherever it is that you are standing.
And going is this absurd task when you pack extra tea bags
And eat two sandwiches because you don’t know what else to do,
And your other sister notices you have freckles,
For the first time, outside a hospital room.

Nothing about it is ever real but the hindsight.
I tried to bargain my life.

That whole thing about time,
Time heals, time passes,
Well, sometimes it's just not true.
Time stains.

No one asks anymore, everything is fine.
And simultaneously,

The year I lost you,
I made you perfect.

It Stays Here

Ephemeral attraction,
Something fierce marred
By the scripted cliché of inexperience,
Vague, effete,
I looked everywhere, everywhere.
I'd been ready for years.

Focused forward. Fool, too.
Throwing combustibles into the hot spot,
Somewhere in the vicinity, a carnival, my heart. Yes.
Somewhere a sad girl went home
With the smallest of prizes,
Dressed it up and called it fancy. It was.
Dim the lights and squint your eyes.

You thought I'd let a stranger break my heart.
What were you thinking? Wind, clear the air here.
I can't breathe and I don't like the way it smells.

The sadness creeps up my inner arms,
Drama settles where my skin is softest and white.
Everywhere else is sun-kissed with history.
Tapping the same vein. Again?
Again. Well. Not everyone flies,
Not every time anyway.

Maybe the truth I've been searching for
Lies in the search itself,
Maybe the balance I seek is found
In the seeking itself,
I wasn't going to let a stranger break my heart,
Not in this noisy place anyway. Fool.

I looked through the darkness
When it was best to see with my heart,
Waiting for a scene to come together.
So I saved your place, there's a shadow here still.
Never the girl to play hard to get. Hardly.
It was easier for me to skip past it,
I'd otherwise hold it dear
And never let go. You don't know.

I couldn't let a stranger break my heart,
No matter how beautiful the scarlet scent
Of potential. No matter.
You've never seen a woman devastated
Turn away from you and not look back.
Fool. I didn't take it with me.

Look at your hands.
I didn't take it with me.

Geography

My hips still go soft when I see your name.
You. I've decided you're bad.
I catch my breath.

Leave me with the sound of my name, trailing,
Incomplete. You exit the scene.
I barely hear you asking me with sugar lips,
Barely, and you're walking away from the answer,
One foot in front. Then the other.

Once, not so long ago, I too
Had thought I could walk away.

Since, I've been standing in the same place
So long the roots of these trees bear witness
To my history. I have nothing more to offer you,
Nothing that isn't dormant. Hope springs eternal,
The unfurling of a leaf or a gentler hand
To undress me tonight and linger
Long enough to find the soft curve of my hips.

I'm squinting in the sunlight.
The disciplinary whip of my hair
Against my face is no delicate lover's touch.
This is not you. This is fall. Sadness.
Never mind the invisible pollen of heartbreak,
It's always had a size of it's own.

I'm letting something go. Even with my eyes closed
This has become too big to hold onto.
Two small hands cupped and, still, it wasn't enough,
My plus one didn't stick around and slipped away.
Scorched salamander.

You.
Am I still saying your name in my sleep?

My body had been your map.
I had been a passenger in your hands.
You had belonged to me.
The night had fallen slowly
Against the low drawl of my name.

Are you certain
You don't want a gentle hand
To undress you tonight?

Personal Moth

The intoxicating nectar of inspiration landed closely, fluttering.
I remember looking up, I remember when everything changed.
Anticipation, like bats, whipped through this place
And left a disaster in its wake.

I had an excess of unclaimed love, just laying there
In the winter coffin of sadness. I was feeling adventurous.
I was feeling all kinds of things. Mostly, I was feeling you.
Now I feel out of sorts.

There's a small reflex separating instinct from wishful thinking.
Sadness is the cost of chance. Hope is the paper cut.
The whisper of lilac skies fade, buttery soft. Mail stacks unopened.

I don't know what enough is, I don't know what it would have taken.
I didn't get enough of you. There's a hummingbird in my heart.
There's a butterfly on my mouth. I want more. I miss you.

The memory of fingers is surprisingly visceral. Cruel.
Skin, papery thin, and the scent of happiness. Warmth,
More specifically, yours. Ghost. Flutter, stuck in the branches
Of my melancholy. I'm having to share you with the universe
And I don't want to.

I'll see you on the other side.

You're wicked the way you touch everything you see.
Wicked the way you burn your flame.
I'm not home but I'm somewhere. And I'm in such a state,
Fluttering around you. Birthday cake, frosting and all that.
Your flame is bright and strong, and I'm sad.

As Close to Heaven

The indelible ink of my negligence consumes me.
No mark is yet on my skin is by chance. The sky is yellow.
I'm following you, quickly burning past the price of being alive.

My jealousy is innocuous and lacks true commitment.
The hangover of defeat is simple, and the years go by.

My lips taste of a memory, the romance of citrus.
I lay so close to heaven. So close that sleep
Doesn't know what to do with my body
And dreams come to me while my eyes are still open.
I'm stuck in the middle between you and here.
I want to hear you laugh. I stretch out my hand and touch you.

I wear the silky things you say to me. I am your definition.
Make your wish. I will lay down so close to heaven
That sleep won't know what to do with my body,
And my body won't know what to do with its host.

The sky opens itself up and swallows me. As close to heaven.

Your hands dance, you draw attention to yourself,
The years go by. I just want one thing. It's bigger than the sky.
I touch you so that I can fly.

I run to shed this excess hunger passing as courage.
I run to beat the parasite of appetite. I run as a form of prayer.
My capacity for you is a port, unchecked.
I just want one thing. Heaven. I stretch out my hand.

I'm underwater while you sleep. The sky opens itself up
And swallows me. It's as close as I'll ever get to heaven.
I touch you so that I can fly.

The Accidental Gardener

I was never a waste of your time, this is my secret for you.

Your open hands are my garden.
Spring brushes the hair off your face and kisses you, then,
The little regrets buzz about while the sun starts to set,
Looking for a home, looking for conversation.

I need to find something, and I need
The industrious nature of your permanent flame.

My desire is desperate and lengthy.
New freckles crop up like surprises,
I can't describe the color of your voice,
Or the symmetry of your kindness.
Sometimes, I see you lose your footing.
I see you, I say nothing. I am often kind.
The melody of your cooling is gentle.

This liquid love is your hands
On the small of my back, but only briefly,
Maybe twice. It is also perhaps a choice,
Your breath against my face, intimate gestures,
Cropping up like surprises and freckles.

Oh, and the industrious nature of your permanent flame.

My silence is a tangled mess of improbabilities.
I know what the skin on your face feels like.
Your open hands are my garden.
You seem to have stumbled upon something of mine
That had been blooming on it's own.

I bump into every intimate gesture
You carelessly leave laying around.
I bump into all the small fires you start
And scorch my wings, just slightly.
I localize the damage and cut my hair short.
Now I am lighter. I have experience with burns.

Acting both as my parent and my undoing,
I derailed exactly as predicted and turned,
Completely unqualified to speed into the apex
Of my future with this reckless abandon,
Into the industrious nature of your permanent flame.
Sometimes these things just happen.

I will lean forward and leave you a kiss.

The Kindness of Strangers

What happens next?
The amber of my optimism is limber,
I am powerful and my hair is beautiful and long.
I run my fingers through the discarded math
Of miscalculated risks, soundlessly,
Sitting at a table, watching the scene.

I look down and away.
The men nearby are all wearing incredible shoes,
It almost makes everything alright.
But you, you were never smitten. Not with me,
Not on this side of our season. It wasn't me.
I have never been unbelievable.
I'm quite ordinary, actually.
It used to bother me.

Once upon a stranger's brief delight,
The deliberate half smile of a man just released,
A treasure I carry with me like a shiny stone,
A compliment accidentally left behind for the taking.
A pet to love, and someday lay to rest.

The bitter cold takes your hands,
They feel old, I think of oak trees.
The dogs of Winter attack and tear at the hem
Of my dress, I thought it was just the bad weather.
I thought, maybe if I waited it out. Well,
I didn't think it through. It wasn't me.

The women nearby are wearing their holiday best,
Was the glitter of my laughter never enough?

Once upon a stranger's brief interruption,
The deliberate imprint of a half smile,
An exchange. My hair is beautiful and long,
I am wearing my holiday best.

Perfect and Gentle

Mechanical owl eyes clicking,
Watching. You're perfect and gentle.
I made parts of songs for you,
A pair of hearts, and also, a bite-size for you.

Sometimes I lose my sight of you.
It seems to me you've been leaving things behind.

I bought the same sheets as you,
Pieces of pieces of me and some pieces
Of you.

Mechanical owl eyes clicking,
Watching. Blinking. Exploring.
Humidity clings me a desperate lover.

Mechanical love-shapes beating,
Clicking, testing the immobility
Of a chain link hope.

Pink morphs itself, reflecting orange. The pelicans dive.
There's a place where the sky is almost white before it disappears.

Memories left by the wayside return to the earth on their own.
Still, I had wanted everything to be so nice.

Mechanical owl eyes clicking.
You're perfect and gentle, my apple.
I have parts of songs for you,
I'll sing for you. I'm watching, still
I may lose sight of you.

The Center of Everything

This is my fall.
This is my rain.
These are my shoes.
Scented weather.
Choose.

Don't ever mouth the words,
not even in the bucket of night. Not even
under the hum of a pulse.

Flight.

Tumbleweed secrets we never shared, (shh…)
Warm voice wool soothes. You, Autumn calm. True.
I'm not to blame for your existence. You stare. It sticks.
The center of everything.

Surge.

Stay still. I'm hanging on by a thread. The nest of sanity redefined.
Trapped in the bittersweet waiting space of incremental cotton naps
between dusk, comfort and dawn. The seasons change.
Six months of insomnia masquerading as sleep. Dreams flitter.

Raw.

This is my fall.
This is my tumble.
These are my shoes.
Choose.

You Belong To The Beach

this one needed work. check back later.

'KBYTHNX!

The Loss Of A Comet

He hadn't shaved in a couple of days.
I rolled over on my side
with such a profound sense of loss.
It was a comet, this kiss.
I was hoping the room would still be dark.
I couldn't wait to write about it,
as if writing about it would define the moment.

As though I was equipped
to handle such occurrences with efficiency,
and a light touch.

We kissed in the kitchen.
He had lots of girlfriends.
He pressed his entire body against me.
This was not my dream.
It was my void, still warm.

Let me tell you about the way he smelled.
Let me tell you about the way his skin felt.

In a single instant everything my other self desired -
Oh, because there is another self -
was assuaged standing in a kitchen filled with people
in a dream so vivid it will become a memory.
Then, a loss.