I'm a ******* in the certain way
we all mostly are
in which the pain with passion is an inseparable thing
it is left over in bite marks and scratches
the illicit passion
but also in a look
and the way the air hangs
too heavy between glances.
and wonders at failed love
in all directions
and the impossibilities the brain makes
in what cannot be known
this form is less safe
and more poison.
it's the voice that reminds
make art or die
and suggests that you intrench yourself
in solitude.
and pain.

Virginity is meaningless
but since you asked
I lost mine to a boy in a green sweater
two years ago I would have described
that sweater as ocean depths
now it is bile, thick and heavy
his eyes would have been a blue storm
now they are remembered as watery and weak.
He was growing sick at parting
trusted to keep me safe.
I learned to late that possession
was all he wanted of me,
that he would rip the "I" from my body
and replace it with "His".

I'm so grateful to know you
don't pay attention
so I can say I love you
too much
when you're looking away
i know you've been loosing your hearing
since before you met me  
i'm so glad I'm loud
but i try not to say it too much
because i've seen it change meaning
upon repetition
i fear it will fade
or you're saying it in other ways

How do we know each other
so well?
we pay attention
we see more, than anyone else.

My childhood was spent reading books
in shade trees
and lips stained
by the blood of cool sweet blackberries
found in deep shade
and acquired by masochistic tendencies
which said the scrapes left by thorns
were nothing to the pleasure of cool berry burst
in southern sun

this summer will be spent reading books
in his cool arms
lips stained
by the sweat off his winter white skin
becoming bright red
from a known masochistic tendency
which says artists like to be bruised by kisses
this is nothing to the pleasure of being intertwined
on hot summer nights.

Now I sleep with my windows open
the world smells sweeter
because you exist

I mean I'm sure its the same
corruption and shame
it's always been

but you
make something new
of the moon.

My brain likes to auto destruct
And feed poison thoughts
I know you are better
than the rest