We both know it's over,
Though we haven't spoken a word.

And I hear your sleeve rustle
As you run your fingers through your golden hair,
Nervously. Impatiently.
You don't want to be here.

Our eyes meet;
They match the coffee sitting on my bedside from this morning.
Cold.
Bitter.
Unfinished.

My hands rest in my lap, clasped together;
As if to pray to some obscure divinity
That can't hear me.
Gaze fixed on chipped, red nails,
Trying not to bite my tongue.

You knew it was wrong;
You knew it would come to this.
You knew all along.

Didn't you?

Jaw clenched,
You stare out a window,
Plotting your escape.

I try to remember the good times,
But they all seem so out of context now.
Your smile seems so crooked now,
Your eyes seem cold and distant now.

Your charm,
But free deceit disguised as cheap love,
A poor alibi for worse decisions.

You don't love,
You lust.

Because that's all you've ever known in this world,
That's all you ever learned from your sick father figures:
I want.
I need.
I have.

Human connection,
A waste of time.
Love and affection,
No worth to speak of.

So, tell me.
Was she worth it?

"I love her," You say quietly.

"I know," I reply.

Empty streets in the rain....

Wouldn't we have said,
"there's a song about that"?
and smiled into each other's eyes.

But I was there today...
on those streets we gilded
with our bright new love.

I stopped at the corner by the parish
and heard your voice;
its little happy gasps, and
excited half whispers.

I remember you, sitting down
under sweeping branches,
but still reaching up
to hold my hand
in the beauty of the night...

... but now it is just another day
smattering with rain.
your ghost plays hide and seek with me
and our music storms in my head.

Busy, busy days
No time for poems or for reads
What have we achieved?
#Busy

I licked the laughter off
of your lip
and bit your bloodied ear
while you told me you still hear them whisper sometimes.

So I sli--d my hand to your waist

We knew about the city scream outside,
the smog that creeps around every almost dream
and breathes gently into our lungs.

We could tell you matter-of-fact about the
week long drag and the people all bedraggled
making their last way back home.

We were somehow worrying that the sauntering
(So sleek! So stealthy!)
reality would ****** us away--since it does
and it does--

But instead you flicked your speech
quickly along my spine as I
Ahhh---ummm
Kissed your hip--
So divine!

Are you fleeing from Love because of a single humiliation?
What do you know of Love except the name?
Love has a hundred forms of pride and disdain,
and is gained by a hundred means of persuasion.
Since Love is loyal, it purchases one who is loyal:
it has no interest in a disloyal companion.
The human being resembles a tree; its root is a covenant with God:
that root must be cherished with all one's might.
A weak covenant is a rotten root, without grace or fruit.
Though the boughs and leaves of the date palm are green,
greenness brings no benefit if the root is corrupt.
If a branch is without green leaves, yet has a good root,
a hundred leaves will put forth their hands in the end.

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.