i won't say
i love you.
i won't ask
you to stay
when you
can't. i will
never hold
the hushed
promises
you sneak
to me in the
dark against
you when
the day
makes you
break them.

but if you
let anyone
else
touch you,
hold you,
*******,
like i do:
i will see
red.

i hope you don't
think i didn't
tell you that i'm
sorry
because i'm
not the type of
person
to say it over the
the phone;

i didn't say it
because i'm not
sorry,
and i never will be:
you self obsessed
*******.

didnt make it to
your wedding
but i sent your
anniversary gift
in mid-december
despite the
june event.

the circumstances
felt cold to me
anyway.

I held him
like the sky
holds the moon:
through the night.

He turned my arms
to jasmine:
tangled himself
in my veins
[I mean vines]
until I grew
around his shape,
and then cut himself
free
come sunrise.

I still reach for him
in the dark:
the reckless god boy
in star-child clothing;
loose lipped
and wonder-eyed.

i spent my
y o u t h
at the foot
of your bed:
complaining
about school,
and hanging
my head.

the sky's flowers are the
february stars that brood
like a crashing sea.

moon against moon,
the indigos of the night
wind and unwind.

who listens when the
bright beams tremble?

who listens to the grey night's
powerful song?

the sky's flowers are the
slow river of clouds that
flow away from me,

little paper islands
puffed out like chinese lanterns.

only the stars and the
clouds and the moon,

the boughs beneath, withered
and gaunt, start to dream...

i want your
lament logic
and your
tangent tongue;

i want your shape
in my mattress,
and your breath
in my lungs.