☯
Are you humble
to the very walls and windows
of your drifting soul?

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Death; just an old dog
still trying to learn new tricks;
To soften our grief.

...
I've been homesick,

It's been a long time since I've last given birth to gods in my poetry; so to the old truths and the new: 'hallelujah'

My tongue was a slave to lovely things---I'll admit it was easier that way, but now I've been writing it down again; turning spiders into stories and cancer into planets

who was I to begin with,
who was I.

I'll say it now. I will never escape the wolves. Those wolves with their chalk outlines and their lakota moons. They'll try to teach themselves how to walk back into your life again and don't you dare forget the ruin, oh don't you dare forget how the fire kissed you

she was moonlight sonata,
but he was clair de lune.

He fed me to the bullet feast when he saw fit and I left his ashes on the sidewalk; daybreak can have it for all I care now.

"I don't know if I'm in love with you anymore"

I remember my body as a garden of stars disguised as flowers; my roots merely empty spaces dismantled by the light. I remember the bullets in the soil he planted, and the wars that grew in it's place. I became a walking example of death; a soul in the process of decay.

Who was I,
who was I to begin with.

Dear all that has haunted me all these years: I am ready for you. I have always been ready for you.

Tell me where to sell my soul, and I will meet you there.

---Swimming in the moonlight

─illustrations on the ceiling

i love the way
the sunlight ripples along his skin
with no complaints

"messiah"* the shadow talks
"of course he is"* i reply
and i resume to orchestrating my love

─little phobias

i wander aimlessly along his windows,
his eyes;
they are gates to afterlives unloved;
they are oceanic shrapnel
sky imprisoned infinities
a lapis point of view-
that i treasure

his heart is drenched
in my soul-
in a sweeter sickness-
in the liquid measure of my steps-
he mentions i'm contagious

i tell him he is my favorite way
to bleed

"september prodigy" the shadow babbles
"why?" i rasp
"sun at long last
kisses away
all the ghosts
harvesting from
the heart of the moon"
and i broke out into stars

─my serendipity

i love the raw
music of our conversations,
and how his voice
undresses me
and my monsters
so delicately
in fabrics of the dark

i love how his laugh
makes all the other planets
look dull;
how his smile
is the first step
to curing the blind

so the blind may know
what i know

"the symphony of seams"

i love how he is the shocking
philosophy
of turning suicide notes
into paper cranes

of picking fights with death
so i may remain

i love the phoenix tucked in his soul
how it defines-
the altitudes-
the limits-
our existence he describes to me

"reincarnation?" the shadow asks
"every morning he wonders" i answer
and the fever invests it's time in me

"what is he to you?" the shadow murmurs

"besides broken flowers,
and ink blots shaped like rain
he is my favorite stairway to heaven."