emily-webbWhisper

American
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false triptych #2I. In the past you were stale and sticky like old beer and I could not peel your hands from my hips. I know I couldn't look at you when you kissed me, but neither could I close my eyes. / II. Sometimes now you are a black hole that pulls me in at the top of the steps. Your shirt is two sizes too big and my hands pull it close around your waist, calming the air and closing a vacuum. / III. When you put your knuckles to your mouth to laugh, when your sleeves are rolled up just above your elbows, music is peeking out of your corners like light under a doorway and your eyes are a robin's egg on the sidewalk, cracked open to spill a feeling that has no name or ending.
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Nov 1, 2011
the thirdWondering where it came from, this obsession with threes and trinities, / And there you were, / My third deity,
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Sep 13, 2011
09.I want to live with you in a shotgun house / open the doors and let the breeze roll / through
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Sep 13, 2011
the feelingthe way an overhead fan blows stray hairs across your cheeks / you offer a bite of something to a friend with occupied hands, and you / accidentally press your finger to their lips
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Sep 13, 2011
10.across the table / you were / fingers laced
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Sep 13, 2011
if you are...I amof slight stature / your shoulders are beautiful in the sunlight / you couldn’t not know that
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Sep 13, 2011
12.along the top of the wooden cabinet / a large carpenter bee / left feathered imprints of its legs
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Sep 13, 2011
13.You’re not the kind / who stops to think / when I’m leaning on your car door,
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Sep 13, 2011
triptych #5I. I am the reason I never had more than a minute’s chances with anything. Sitting on steps with you became the same thing as being in love, because we were together--you, me, and cigarettes. Strange became anything, holding court in a playground planetarium and I took closer to be a state of mind. / II. Nothing ever dies, and I have beautiful sore spots that flower like fields in blood and lymph and bruises. Your fingerprints were black on my neck and it was nothing short of spectacular that heavy silence and the same song on endless repeat even failed to slow you down. / III. My greatest love is the possibility and words that mean nothing to anybody except someone I used to be. I was the stranger and I shot myself four times to spend eternity in purgatory here with you.
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Sep 13, 2011
don't know much aboutI don’t know much about love / but I would pay to smash you / on a hard tile floor like a cheap porcelain doll.
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Sep 13, 2011
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