You smiled
like I was worth the wait-
or the lie.
Couldn’t tell.
You left the kitchen light on too long.
I stepped inside.
The floor gave way.

I slept beside you
as a thief
-quiet,
not for comfort-
but for the hush
that comes
when no one asks
what you’ve done.

Your shoulder
held the part of me
that still wanted
to be forgiven.
I kissed you
like confession
with no priest,
no promise,
just heat and teeth.

You didn’t flinch.
Didn’t ask what made me
this way.
Didn’t try
to fix it.

I’ve burned names
like receipts.
I’ve swallowed shame
like spit.
Walked out
of too many mornings
with hands that still remember
who they touched
and didn’t deserve.

But you-
you just set a cup beside the bed.
No questions.
No sermon.
Just water.
Just presence.
Just mercy,
without the bow.
I drank the quiet.
It didn’t heal me,
but it stayed.

And when you sang-
not loud,
just soft enough to hold the air.
you said my name
like it was still mine.
Like it wasn’t
something I’d dropped
on purpose.
Like it could
come back.

We woke to laughter and breaking glass.

not hers, not mine, not morning yet.

The ceiling blinked a single eye.

A moth drew circles on my chest.

Outside, a streetlight peeled its skin,

blue steam hissed from its broken throat.

A train passed through the bedroom wall.
a hiss, then cabled rolling float.

last night was full of paper moons,
of bitten spoons, of matchbook lies.
My pulse made bargains with her skin,
her hands spoke truth her mouth denied.

I drank from bottles filled with bells.

Each swallow rang a darker note.

She stitched my name in spider silk

and pinned it in her winter coat.

The carpet blooms with cherry pits.

A handprint shimmers on the sink.

The mirror mouthed a warning once,

but I forgot how not to blink.

I gave her maps I’d drawn in ash,

each road a lie, each city torn.

She read them like a child reads stars,

the kind that die before they’re born.

She left no rope, no cage, no nail,

just shadows folded under wings.

I walked into the hallway’s mouth

to hear a single echoed string.

Some mornings take a different shape,

a wristwatch ticking in the trees,

a flame that speaks in borrowed words,

a bed unmade in seven keys.

A coffee swells in waxy skin
The city squints through windowed glare
She’s creased inside a wrinkled dress
Her shape hangs limp in laundered air

A payphone rang, one ghost, one ring.
No one moved. We all just knew.
A siren dragged its echo past,
delivering a distant queue.

Fluorescent hums a migraned god.
My coat spins slow behind the glass,
zipper beats like trapped bird wing.
A sock grins dumb from wire racks.

This street is lined with yellow stain,
lights too bright for folks this small.
I sipped, I burned, I thought her name,
it drifted in suburban sprawl.

She’s someone else’s Sunday now
in fresh-washed light, her hair tucked neat.
Vanilla steam and honeyed bread
laughing soft in kitchen's heat.

The dryer stops, a broken chime,
just silence, stretching like a neck.
I crack, not loud. Just wide enough
to feel the break beneath my breath.

Here my soles are worn too thin
A half-full cup, a sleepless eye,
no grace, no hand to lift away,
this curb, this ache, this grayer sky.

You pull me through doorways
with cherry red charm.
You fill me with whiskey
and hang on my arm.

We waltz through the wreckage,
the crown and her guest.
Your hem lined with ashes,
the last of what’s left.

The clerk asks for blood.
The stone has run dry.
We promise, tomorrow
and feed him with wine.

The clouds now move faster,
with voice of hard wind.
It speaks to you only
as thunder moves in.

You twist here beside me
and curl like a vine,
your teeth in my shoulder,
reliving some crime.

You hold me so tightly
and whisper your vows.
Your secrets stay hidden.
Your tears are so loud.

here we know the teeth
here we show the marks
from lying underneath
what wants us in the dark
 
you shame and curse my name
in safety of the day
then pull your velvet drapes
and beg for me to stay
 
we claw and gnash in heat
and tear at tired skin
through bone
and blood
and meat
to taste the drug within
 
others cannot sleep
we bend against these walls
we grow
and swell
and creep
our scent hangs in the halls
 
you cry for noise and rain
to wash away your fear
you kiss your saint of pain
and drink her ivory tears
 
refuse all gods and kings
and move across my floor
you are my everything,
my queen, my child, my *****
 
press your hips to earth
reveal the peace within
begin the warm rebirth
of flesh
of life
of sin

I cannot leave with you, she wrote,
You cannot stay with me.
It’s just, I want to hold you, still,
to feel what used to be.

One day, I’ll ask if we can talk,
not to fix
or to explain,
just to hear the way your voice
still gently folds around my name.

Sometimes I’ll cry, it's no one's fault.
Sometimes I’ll ask you not to speak.
like hope tucked in a matchbook spine,
too bright to strike, too small to keep.

If there is blame, let it go.
If there is mercy, speak it low

She slipped it here, inside my coat,
still holding warmth,
still not yet cold.

clutching my crumbling holy relic,
that trace of her final kiss
still threading heat through quivered lips,
rise to find shelter,
move it safe from noise and haze

stumbling through shadows,
like uneven, forgotten lumber
patching gut shot with used bandages
the faded, drunken hymns of heart flung sadness
hang along Cahuenga Avenue, old and overplayed
wilted spider silk across a concrete violin

each parking meter my next crutch,
arguing with stoic streetlights,
giving their cold flicker that same
blood stained sermon,
self same pity, worn and overused

I warned, I was wounded, the cut never sealed
Never bled, just trailed smoke.
it whistled in the wind some nights,
she knew, it was permission to leave
reading the eviction note
on a house that never had walls,

from edge of a coin- I’ll scratch out her name,
from a nightman’s club- the darkness can fall,
from the tear of my eye- she’ll melt away,
from the skin of my teeth- I’ll feel the dawn crack
and learn, again,
to crawl