I sit watching brown eyes
probe affectionately through the haze
at the mirrors created by close family.
I think the intimacy that is made possible
by the sharing of wine, **** and space
in a dim room full of sad love and smoke
will never ceased to amaze me.
The men see themselves in each other
and are both heartened in their own ways
I am drunk now in my way
and The Mirror is ****** in his
and Brown (Green) Eyes is both at once
Appalachian mouths move in turns
to take a hit or a drink or a shot at wisdom
Suddenly the truth of our three souls is laid bare
on the tiny table there between us.
My heart tightens around the words
as they echo through each chamber
growing louder with each reverberation.
“Happiness is being able to breathe”

Love you, Frank.

He sleeps
I want to stay mad
I really really want to stay mad
I don't want that as much as I want to fill out my kids' emergency medical forms for school
Or as much as I want to throw away the trash from the counter
Or as much as I want to pace the kitchen floor for an hour.
Or as much as I want to lay down my arms and tell him the truth of what hurts.
Or as much as I want him.
But he wants sleep.
Seems reasonable enough.
I want sleep.

Tight rope walking
is an art that my man
has perfected.
He sweats only inside
as he risks the fall
in bringing my morning coffee.
No net.
Still he smiles as though
this particular rope
is a lifeline.
A tether?

He could never be
The Boy With The Hair.
No;
My Man Is No Boy.
He dares greatly
clutching a quivering
cup of lifeblood.  
One foot placed carefully
In front of the other
50 feet above
the DMZ each morning
Into enemy territory.
Into me.

The bravest Man I’ve known
is a performer in a circus
where the perks are
landmines
languish
and breakfast with
The Bearded Lady.

Once upon a time
I bought a house from a guy
that looks a lot like you
-the type with an honest face.

To be fair I wasn't a hard sell.

He never had to ask me to ignore
the leaking sink,
or the door you had to shut
a little too hard.

I never needed sold
on the messy neglected interior.

I was hungry
for a home

An easy commission check.

I never asked about the interest rate,
or the property taxes,
or what it would cost to insure the place.

No thought whatsoever
about the blood, sweat, and tears
it would cost
Each Month
to pay the mortgage.  

Just to keep it.
Just to stay.

My brow,
and eyes
and cheeks,
raw from the salt they'd come to know.

A bad investment.
Bad negotiations.

I took the long way home.
I'm so glad I made it though.
Thank you.

I can never unremember discovering how much we both loved 3eb
that day in your bed at the yellow house.
Maybe that’s when I should have known
that I could never have you.
You knew that before I did.
I'm the one that's
Stupid.
And there’s still this
BURNING.
Like there’s always been?
I’ve always felt so alone.
I’m not sure that I’ve ever felt
Alive.

Do better!
Be better!
Want me!
I screamed into the void of my thoughts.
I wasn’t sure who I was screaming at
but I had at least a few people in mind.

The reality is:
it could have been anyone.
No one had ever been enough.

I had always believed that I had not been enough for anyone.

The trouble it seems:
He was right.

No one had been enough for me.

Maybe I was my intended audience.
****.

It’s the t-shirts on parade
and imagining that the new girl feels bad for me.
It’s that the new girl isn’t the new girl
but that she is the girl.
It’s that I wasn’t ever actually the girl
and she will never know the significance of each shirt.
It’s the feeling that I will only ever be a footnote
in the partners I’ve shared.
The feeling that I won’t ever be the headliner
only the one that came before or after.
I've got great taste in t-shirts though.