I was in a prison, and they smuggled a nice book to me,
So I read it with a huge liberating feeling,
But as I lived in a totalitarian state,
Where nothing is left to the fate,
My sentence was immediately doubled,
For my daring attempt to escape.

Your skin is the walls and
Your voice builds halls
That never end.

You remember the days when there were ways
Around. People around.
You remember the things, those important things,
All piled on top of each other.

You can’t smell the garden you planted.
You can’t read the book you’re writing.
You can’t hear your laughter, after.

The dust fell like a blanket
And you were too scared to move.
One crack, and you’ll never go
Back. Never leave as you watch the
Leaves dancing.
As you watch them all running.

Your room is the garbage can
Of your life.
But at least it’s not empty.

when i first saw him
he was wearing untied boots without socks
sauntering across a hilly grass field
to calypso music playing in the
background or my imagination

i was so overtaken by his spirit
when he brought me home that
i succumbed to drowsiness for three days
curled simply into his armpit and
danced upon the galaxy

when i awoke he was massaging my feet
checking my reflexes for sun damage and
soothed my soft bruises with a milk plate

he kisses me in the morning with enthusiasm
and we share a room for breakfast as he
teases me with ecstasy eyes and i'm
no longer nervous around strangers

last night i danced across his bedsheets
he giggled and rolled his eyes at me as
i stood with the light of the sunset shining
behind my ears his rhinestone eyes locked
into mine for more than a moment and
my knees went weak my fragile hips collapsed
reclining into his chest like a middle eastern
pillow

i think his sweaty neck is delicious
as i sing to him through a vibraphone
in the magical kitchen
licking his skin clean i'm bathing
him in a sunbeam stretched across the tile
beneath the bay window

although i'll never understand why
he leaves or where he goes i know he'll
always return to me as the sun grows cold
and the white moon begins to weep her new
lust onto the blooms in the front garden

and in the meantime i keep myself warm
wrapped in a ball of yarn talking in circles
to myself spinning and catching strands of
cloudlight in my unsure hands

when i finally see him in the driveway
at the sky's edge picking flowers for me
the confusion melts away and the pain
from my wonky leg becomes
suddenly forgettable

as i watch him putting on clothes
in the morning just before dawn
or towelling off after a long day away
my eyes play with him and i let him know
how i feel with my body aroused
merely by his tone of voice nudging
him with my cheeks on the tight spots of his ankles

he is beautiful and strong full
of compassion and i'm so afraid of
being alone again i'll do anything
to squeeze him and keep him so
i scratch his back every morning at 5am
exploring the sharpness of his shoulder blades
to remind him of the things
we can do together
and to make sure
he's still alive

I promise ,

You will be the first person to hear about my happiness .

I promise ,

I will be the first person to hear about your sadness .