There's going to be a phone call in the night
A well of whispers and worries opened
It'll trill once, twice, cease
For my hand will cool its plastic brow.

I'll cradle that phone call in the night
Cup it to my ear, like shell washed with memoirs,
Anxious to hear an answer as clearly
As the water to which my mind will take me.

Seconds will hold me - no one answers at once;
My chest will heave, rattling those breaths and thoughts impatiently.
I will beckon with a greeting and will despair with a sigh
And hear the trill of the night reply.

'Think. Think. Think.' like a clock tick
That word will alight me, strike me dull blows
And sorrow at...
No, in me.

A thought takes the theatre
A doubt 'dopts the limelight
And I fear not what will
But now what would happen

And like a pool in the dark it takes me.

I would hear what the speaker would say and
Wouldn't be so lucky as to remember, as to understand.
There's going to be a phone call in the night, but
I won't be there.

With bodies made like limericks
Five-step beats make joy of pain
And memory makes life again

With groans that beat like drummer-sticks
On hopes that float like tears
I threw away your fears

But never forget,
The way I told you never
And sewed in lace of dew and heather

We left each other alone
We may find each other one day
But for now you can be lost, my way

Don't fill more books, my wondering cherub
Your dance has settled the night sky
I can't fill more poems with why

I feel the cold now, the numb has gone
And walk alone in a still night
I'm beaten, bruiséd from the fight

An empty shell, moved by wind
I'll see you again some day
But for now you can be lost, my way.

You frown at the way I can drink whiskey without flinching. and every time I tell you. honey. I don't drink alcohol for the taste. If I did. I would have the taste of your smile down my throat every night. I would have every memory of us bottled. And I would drink them whenever you were gone. Which lately is a lot. so lately I drink more. the warmth of the whiskey when it hits my insides reminds of the first couple months with you. When you were sure. When we were good. When I was enough. Now I can't drink enough. Now we don't talk enough. Now is different. The only time I feel you. The real you. Is with my clothes on the floor. You get your fix. I'll get mine. I'll **** the stress out of you. And I'll drink the sadness out of me. The sadness you fill me with with how empty you leave me. I'm addicted to this whiskey. And to the way your hands grip my throat.

What can be harder than metal or bone?'
She asked, ivory champing on the bit
And she spoke with iron, stoking,
Poking the fire.
'Fire.'

My hearth stuttered in protest, but
By blackened, guttered tongues
I could not speak
And her belief was left untouched.

There's charcoal in my breath
My lungs clutch fiery coals
She knew, she told me so
And iron only felt the touch of my chest

She stoked the flames
And from between my cagèd ribs I coughed
She held out her hand
And the yellow licked her palm, bristling

She laughed.
'What's harder than metal or bone?' she mused
And poked my chest some more.
'Fire.'

She walks on shellbone sandals
Her back *****, like reeds that stretch to the sun
And her hair
Golden frolicks of olympus wheat hafts
Graces down, down, down
To meet it

She watches like mirrors do
Shining what we hope to see
With a pointed nose, bright
Like mirrors can be
If I smile, smile, smile
Like she makes me want to
Into her face

She moves like trees shiver
As she tosses pebbles to their roots
With a skip and a hop
She shoots amongst the flowers
And drinks the day, day, day
Like flowers do.

She leaves like evening reddens
And tires like starlings fly
But the moon, the moon
Lies silver on her summer body
While we wait, together, together, together
Till the morrow comes