Oh, how we became
from the solace seeking dead of winter

when there was warmth in numbers and maybe comfort hid there too.

For you
I could burn down the densest of cities with the lingering you abandoned
inside me, there is a gift tied tight
holding never-ending
full bodied
memory

I’ve known you more

than the underside of your tongue

wet, reckless, and longing

I recite your anger with sure lips

before yours even part.



We memorized each other bare-******,

soaking palms

we don’t touch anymore.

The silence just bleeds

Staining the empty sofa

No longer our worn place of comfort.



We are asking for one another with greedy jaws

loosened with halfhearted declarations

and it is not enough.

You wonder how fairytales

could lead you so astray

you hurt yourself on the jagged softness

of bloodied knuckles against your cheek.

Turn the page on the brightest star

as it implodes unheard, without consequence

I built you up in my mind

far too close to heaven

wrapped tightly in the flammable

unpredictable.

We didn’t burn together.

The choir concludes the service

We are eyes closed, air drawn to hands raised.

They sing because they happy

back in church

With bodies

always with bodies

Someone is screaming, tongue defying hymn

And yes, how far away we are

I miss him too.

His voice always singing familiar

haunts trumpet blaring

Sunday mornings.

Dark eyes and skin, wide smile, no teeth.

Fearless at 5 singing gospels with no concept of holding tight to strength in the lyrics. My ancestors and their ancestors. Am I listening?

I lose myself in years. I am not

Singing anymore. These chords have twisted themselves into the back of songs, I am

Writing, not singing or speaking.

Cottonmouth. I am sitting staunch against pews, leaning into worn piano keys. Foundation stains, and eyes watching, chestnut brown like mine. G in the key that breaks into silence. I hear a hymn being hummed, bacon cooked and waiting.

Memory tells me it is time to open my mouth

I sing 'cause I’m free.

My speakers miss the slow cracking rasp of your voice
and I know I’m not supposed to talk about the tears
or what happens to our hearts once we break them ourselves.

It comes to be a question of belonging
there is a space within you
perfectly build for me to sink inside,
where I hear your voice wistfully say my name

a space that you’ve guarded not emptied.

Now we are the detriment,
in the question of belonging.
There is a space between the soft flesh of my chest,
beyond the cracking of my ribs.

Inside of me, there is a space built for you
sometimes I keep myself there too.

it was early on

I found your kindness laying between my thighs

your love was barren and no

I couldn’t fill

a sideways heart spilled out

contents burning every inch of

me

your intimacy touched

giving the pieces of myself I never

cared to part with

left me empty and you

overflowing.

Most days are filled with unearthing
The feeling of

I am enough.

And then there are days, never-ending

days, and days,

and days.

I am breathing and that is enough.