my lips, limbs
this skin
I don't recognize them
I breathe out
& breathe in
my lungs do without it
how did it begin
to then end
before it is poured
I am opening doors
it is yours
this is yours
I'm picking my sores
& my bones off the floor
I cannot bend anymore
all of my laces have torn
& I'll front-face a storm
I haven't a fear of disaster
it is my hope that gets choked
& sharp pains replace laughter
what did I look like before this
& who's is this voice
what comes after you've left
I do not have a choice

I've not been known to nest low
I've stayed fairly high
but I've been let go to shatter
& glass birds do not fly

At midnight I will scroll through all
of the names on my phone looking
for ones my hungry heart can
devour or savor for a moment or two.
I will find yours from two months
ago when we talked most recently
and think yes, yes this is who
can cure the insatiable appetite.
My mind will say no, no,
bad idea, nothing good will
come from this reaching out
of a hand too eager, grabbing
for purpose, don't do it.
Fingers will type regardless, a
text of hey or how's it going
or where are you or what's up
or maybe even a somewhat
unconscious I miss you,
I will try to say I love you
without saying it at all.
Holding my breath, I will press
send and it will mail off to you
so you can read my desperation
like a casual hello when really
I've packed a million words
unsaid into the few that I have
picked out to type hesitantly.
At 12:02 I will stare blankly
at a message that has yet to
be replied to and I will continue
to, waiting until my eyes are shot
from staring at a lit screen for
too much time, I will then stop.
I will turn off the phone but before
I do I will breathe in the letters of
your name one last time to remind
myself why I do this every night.
I do it because I'm lonely or
maybe it's because I don't want to
come back to an empty room, the
quiet of a bed holding my body only.
You are the remedy for this craving,
even if you do not answer until
morning, or next week, or never
I will search for you always

a bottle of pills cannot evaporate the darkness you face, my friend.
they are stepping stones. the start. they may be at the end. they may not.
there will be many who are beacons; a few shall be your flashlights.
remember they have batteries; remember that the glass can crack.
remember that they can dim and flicker out, and you will need to leave them behind. such is as life goes.
there will be signs, there will be illusions. there will be sunny days and there will be days when it seems the sun has flickered out.
the road is hard and worn, and not all who travel it see the end.
but many still have, many still do.
many will find you on this road, and they will walk with you.
some will leave, some will stay, some will take the other path.
you will find me on this same road, and i hope we can walk it together.
we shall be the beacons, like others have been for us. we shall be each other's flashlights.
we will be the sun.

The city sleeps among its incandescence,
however,
she does not.
she watches,
she waits.
Locked in the safety
of her ivory tower,
her pale nakedness
becoming a silky glow in
the dim light of the room.
She is imprisoned
by her beauty,
though she is loved by many
she loves only one.
She waits up for him,
as a stranger
to the sea of sheets
that cling to her bare legs.
She hears footsteps
from down the hall
and questions,
is it her lover?
or is it another
who insists to pay for
her love.
She works the night,
a high end harlot.
Her sorrow wanes
like a wounded cry from
a beaten wolf.
Knuckles wrap against
the hotel door,
and she turns her gaze
from the city outside the window,
her hair moving
like dancing rays of
stolen light.
She reaches for the lipstick
on the night stand,
and walks bare skinned
and beautiful to the door.