And this.
This is what
it could
be like.


                                                                                                   And this.
                                                                                              This is what
                                                                                                    it almost
                                                                                                    was like.

Perhaps I am a cactus.

              Perhaps,
there are needles
                              protruding
from my skin
to prove how soft
i really am.

                            A saguaro,
                   only hollow      
      by the birds                  
           who make nests      
                          in my chest.

Perhaps,
               I will flower
once the rainy season is over.

I will drink deep of this muddy sorrow
and my skin will swell
warm
          and green
                            and well nourished
by the sky.

Perhaps,
                it will be
the most beautiful
                 blossom anyone has
       ever seen
and people will travel
                                                      mile­s
                      just to
                                      admire.

Perhaps,
        ­        they will wonder
how my flower
                came from such a
spiny
thing
And Perhaps
                        I will tell them.

I,
   the dried flowers on our porch.
You,
        the growing cactus.
I am beautiful,
                         but stagnant.
You grow,
                                     Sharp.

And sometimes,
the wind blows
                    and my petals dance.
And sometimes,
you say
              the most lovely things

But I Can't Touch You.

I remember
                    one night we got so drunk
         on our porch under blankets
     I systematically
covered
     in cigarette
                   ash.
              dusted off
and started again
                                                      I swear
that night, under twinkle lights
                               I always think cast such a warm
                    glow,
          and drip golden,

I swear,
               that night,
Our Passion
                      bubbled like the carbonation in our bellies
And I stopped myself
                                      from saying I Love You.

I remember
                     on Christmas,
we laid on the couch
                                     all day
and didn't see or speak
                               to anyone else.
Watched movie
                        after movie
                                  after movie
Until we both sunk    
into each other
so deep    
                                 half asleep with commitment
              to laziness
      Until I couldn't tell
where my body
                   ended and yours
           began
It was the best Christmas I've ever had.

And I remember
           how you looked
       the night you told me
                              it was over
My breath
                                            caught
and cracked
                             like
                                       ice
Stuck
           between esophagus
                                                 and lung
like our bathroom pipes.

You must have said
                                                  "ex-lover"
hal­f a dozen times or more.

I remember
                     thinking how inappropriate
it was that as I was listening to you
             And all I wanted was
to kiss the anger
             from your lips

I'm not sure why I ever stopped myself
             from loving you until
the very last second,
But I think you're right.
       I thought I couldn't deserve you
and instead of fighting,
                      I put my hands up,
threw down
           a white flag.
In the end, I didn't deserve you
Your quiet power,
                                  Your Moon-child Grace.
If nothing else,
                           this time,
I will learn
      from my mistakes.

I'm thinking about hands again.
                                               I'm thinking about
            how yours are big
            and mine are small
and how yours fit
                                nicely
                     around my throat
mine claw at your back
and i gasp
                                                        …fu­ck me

And I'm thinking about your steadiness
                           and my shakes
        and about how we both create
                               universes
with just our hands
                 and our lips
                         and our teeth.

I'm thinking about how
          my hands would like to find yours
in the dark
              and rest in it's spaces
                             under your ocean
              of blankets,
    like an empty glass waiting
to be filled.

When I was young,
           I watched you fall
taking whole pieces of the Earth that loved you too.
                                                the wind had blown
                        so hard that summer.
In your absence,
I felt heartbreak
for the first time.
                        I felt the ground slip
               from beneath me
And I understood
                                                      ­      the tops of your branches
                                                        ­    were never meant to feel
                                                            ­       such solid things
But the next summer,
the wind was still
       and a small sapling
                                  grew in your place.

You taught me how to weather the storms
and to be thankful for every leaf
that provides shade for what is underneath,
                                    and you taught me winter:
                                    how to survive the darkest months
                                    and that I will bloom again in the spring.

Dear New York,
          I think of you often.

Dear New York,
          In a parallel universe,
                  I am holding you tightly,
but in this one
       I am only grasping
                                        at empty air.

Dear New York,
          Do you read
the love letters I write you
          in my sleep?
                                     Do you sleep at all?

Dear New York,
          I hope you enjoyed your coffee today,
and that it was not bitter,
                                            if it tasted like me.

Dear New York,
          I hope it tasted like me.

I want to tell you
I tear at the sound of your name.
Like the paper jammed in my printer at work,
Sometimes I am a wrinkled mess without you.

I want to tell you
Distance tastes like acid in my throat.
It burns holes in my esophagus nightly.

I want to tell you
I wanted to make a home for myself
In the palms of your hands.
You could cup them
And you could bring them to your lips:
I would let you drink me, if you wanted to.

I want to tell you
This heart is heavy like iron,
But also fragile like glass.
It is fractured and full of chips
Like the one that formed the last time we kissed:
You told me you loved me, then.
It was the first and last time,
And I said it back sounding something like a desperate plea
Knowing it would not stop you from leaving
(But somehow you still lingered.)

I want to tell you all of these things,
But the words get stuck in my mouth.
They are afraid of coming out,
So instead I tell you
"I've missed you"
And I hope some part of you understands the rest.