in this absence of tomorrow
when only birds turn into flying
I frame the image of you
owning yourself
being here, being everywhere
inside, you
words of thunder you were carrying
breathing in your fingers

my voice passed through you
resting in unknown spaces
I didn't look back
since each day is a child
I make with your shadow

my true self is a blank paper
spring will bring me flowers
your image is so real
between pillars of silence
you keep painting yourself with naked air
under untouched skin

I'm walking blinded in your language
wanting to coin my phrases
like "I can die without you"
or "I need you to love my shoulders"

this is all too strange
under the eyelids
this beauty
when birds descend into singing
when tigers turn into grass
when your eyes turn into silence
and I disappear into words

Now I notice
how your eyes burn
blowtorch-blue
when you look at love
looking back at you.

they could cut
through iron bars;
set free
the wish to settle down,
caged within men like me.

when i watch you
wrapped up like garbage
sitting, surrounded by the smell
of too old potato peels
or
when i watch you
in your old man’s shoes
with the little toe cut out
sitting, waiting for your mind
like next week’s grocery
i say
when i watch you
you wet brown bag of a woman
who used to be the best looking gal in georgia
used to be called the Georgia Rose
i stand up
through your destruction
i stand up

I exist as a mirror
Wild lights have glazed over your skin
My whispers are tarnished
Our bodies a shield
Against the coming chills of a brittle wind

I linger with a breeze-like touch,
It comes out hoarse and swollen.
Thoughts  uttered with a breath of regret
Or a sigh of relief.

Your face turns foreign, a mesh of dark warmth
A light without the sun.
We’re all a wounded red
on the inside.

spring will come
when the wind is young
and the harvest of hopes
still awaits for the unspoken

i am sitting at the funeral of my heart
while it is so busy to bloom
into the silence of stones

"Every teardrop is a waterfall"

there is something in sight
some layers inside
the pain of worthlessness
under hatred
corroding the scared ribs

there are acts of seduction
in every corner of a smile
to undress the dead
from theirs spirits

there is the specter of ******
screaming in between the shields
tempting to posses life itself

tenderness is a foreign language
in the cravings of the night
or this is just the long way of love
waking up the leaving

there is something in sight:
the day working against itself
while somebody is learning
how sweet
it is to hate

but life is not that complicated
when you love
what you hate