slowly
deflowering
all the emotion
without the touch.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
our relationship
defined
by tossing me
in a candlelit jar.
he sets me on the table
on the counter
on the stairs
carpet burns
and hot wax
he sets me down
and leaves.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
distance makes us
***** calls and texts of shame
1:43 AM attempts at conversing
the simple hellos ignored
and the ‘I love you’s forever out
of sync.
you are
bully and ringmaster
and my master to your masochism,
strangling the dollface you’ve longed
too long
to want.
we,
armistice.
we, never.
he and me, ****** to each other
I listen and wither with every I miss you
slave,
servant,
animal.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
goosebumps
my skin belongs
on yours
there are valleys
taut ‘tween zygoma
and mandible,
mountains
burying themselves
in their own light
waiting, for a shadow
from a ghost
*I was never here
but goosebumps, darling.
my skin belongs
on yours.*
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
I ******* miss you
and I miss ******* you
with cold blue eyes
leaving me broken and bruised
Winterfresh stares
and you in my periphery
I miss you
even when I look at you
because we both know
I never had a chance
Leading me on like you do, boy, oh
Leaving me, “get along, girl, no”
I miss you smiling
I miss you breathing
I miss you I miss you I miss you
And I could tear these words apart
And slip my missings in between
But nothing
will fill this murmur in my heart
Preventing me from living
my life
because it no longer exists
without you, * * *.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
“Don’t say that,” I said,
for he gave me hope to dream
of a better life
Who am I to judge
what comes from your mind and makes
its way to the page?
Heartbroken hero,
you are worth so much to me
but I turn my head
Inevitably
rejected admiration—
Why do I bother?
I answer myself
quietly, shy, to prevent
embarrassing truths
Speaking in haiku
I am decoding language
to send a message
You are: a poet,
a lover, a dreamer, a
former(?) friend of mine
A broken wing on
the sparrows carrying the
last humility
in this broken world—
You are a fire, lit in black
ink and in tired lines
Your face, a canvas
etched with tragic beauty of
history itself
Your fingers, biceps
trembling with strength, the power
to know and create
Good and goodbyes to
encroached evils of the dark
You know there is more
than storms, depression—
more than this old soul can say
or see or even
Speak, in spite of this
epistolary chain of
senryu, tied with
the hope you once glowed
of, the old flame within you,
the torch to something,
to anything more
that still tastes life in all its
bitter and sweet and
salty and so sour
yourlipspucker with the loved
umami of life
and I am sitting
here, writing this letter to
a man who needs, like
all of us do, to
love and live and laugh and cry
and to feel skin’s warmth
once again. I have hope
for you, even if yours is
hiding under rugs,
swept away in the
midst and mist of foggy lives—
Smoke shall soon clear, and
the right words may not
be found, but these hands you hold
attached to your wrists
I am sure these hands
of yours will find the mirror
and remove the grays
of all your sorrows—
There is light, dear, waiting to
be recognized by
a humble man in
the desert, building machines,
building a new him.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC