she held me th way one kicks aside smeared bug, which is to say: gentle, unwilling, and all fearing
th tender pain she left to mold felt all weakness leave my body
her darkness was th light with which i navigated the puddles of beer and wet clothes, th very image of a god in utero
i was again, the bug, carcass and feeling all stuck
tethered to reality by trauma and th promise of survival
yet still
in very much th same way one flicks about th switches to lights that have lng since felt th soft burn of life give out, she asked if i loved her
to which i replied: i don't - i don't - i don't - i don't feel safe

One for sorrow, two for joy...
Black spots in waves over
Snow crusted
Fields and the jagged
Dark teeth of pine
Beyond.

Girl, boy, silver, gold.* I
I only know her well enough
To trace the place on my face
Where it last
Touched hers, with a
Pensive finger as

I gaze out at the
Winterness floating by.
Yes, I guess that feels like a
Smile. Eight for a wish, nine
For a kiss.
Something secret wonders if

It ever will want to be told,
And I hold the part of myself
That would rather soar than
Join feathers with another,
Tightly. I never seem to get my
Crows in a row.

A fistful of time...
Saw the doing and the undoing
of misguided hands.

A fistful of words...
Hurled in exchange,
like expended rounds that
drew more than they should.

A fistful of life...
Taken for granted
and traded in for
forgotten sands.

A fistful of heart...
Wrung dry by familiar digits...
Suffocating still...
Like I knew it would.