If I write it in words
here on the screen
how much remains
between what seems, and what's real?

They slow down the journey,
rattle your bones,
and so I will always put the passenger-side tire
through the middle dip in the yellow concrete bar
when I drive.

They say it is one of the rarest things in the whole universe
that there are only three known to exist,
(coincidentally enough)
but there is a fourth I know
that is so close it makes me wonder
how rare can they be, really?

I realize it only speaks to my fortune
to be so close to them.

Hollymylove, orbited by two smaller bodies
white flaming hair that blows in stellar winds
lighting up the insurmountable darkness.

So many wounds,
bled out over years
like ink on a test
failed over and over and over

turned into

So many scars,
raised up on the flesh
like the rounded sides
of speed bumps made too high.

will become

So many forgotten memories
faded like ink turning invisible in the sun
like cement smoothed by the erosion of time.

I wanted to write you a poem
but the words wouldn't come
I searched across my mind
I searched between every line
but found nothing and suddenly I realized...

There are no words
I could use to describe
the way these butterflies spasm inside
the way my heart reflects in your eyes
the way the starlight can trace your lines
the way my tongue ties up speaking desires
the way my life is more by your being alive.

And so I sit, silent
in front of a six-foot tall altar,
carved of white marble and onyx
covered in black raven feathers.

She has become my idol
her image replacing the god
I no longer believe in

and I pray to you each night.

It comes to fill an empty space
to fill in the spaces left by the loss of

our pores opened
our saliva blended
our sweat mingled
our velvet moments
our staccato line of site
our time spinning in reverse
our words spoken with our eyes
our family held together by a thread
our love stretched so thin over our bones

It comes like a dead wind
filling the emptiness left behind,
and I don't want that inspiration.

I had enough of emptiness,
the shallow grave I've been digging myself.
Lying to myself all this time
thinking I was digging to China
but only inches down
ready to fall in and expire.

But there is no expiration date
on love.