The photo reminded her of bruised fruit. Well first and foremost:fruit.
Her body, curled around itself, sheltering the fibrous crunchy pit of her, her body white and frayed looking, rounded buttock, calf gently sloping, feet modest, willowy toes toenails like shale
face blurred, questionable dark spots where her eyes could have been. they closed as the shudder buckled, her mouth sagged open, lip lolling to one side, brow ancient furrowed like folds of sand nudged by a lazy tide.  None of it concise, only guessing. Her knees brought up, squeezed against small  
crunch-able chest. Full, heavy with pulp (stringy sweet, what snags on the teeth) but what if it were to fall from an appreciable height? Filmy is the flesh. Daring the looker to look closer, see what mite be hidden there.
Ripe:questionable. Sweet like nothing, pouring from the corners of a mouth: what a bite it would be.
That first bite.
The bruising comes in when she thinks of the brain beneath, that open, limitless figure so pale and forefront and brimming with intent, so crush-able with careless fist, so lovable with thirsty mouth. But what of the mind that put her before you, that turned her vulnerable, shameless, open for discussion?
Put her before you. naked.

I'll whisper
whisper when the wind picks up
I still love you, I'm sorry

I never have been good at reading lips
but I hope this is something we don't share
as you stand there
windblown hair,
with nothing on your face
I hope you understand
this time I'm going, I have no choice
life has made it for me
I'd take you with me if i could
and so I'm sorry
I'll whisper
whisper when the wind dies down
I still love you, I'm sorry

What is it with this fatal attraction
For my soul that’s what it is
I have tried hard to ignore it
And not always give in

Erase you from my heart and mind
To be free from you at last
But every time you’re near
I simply have no chance

What is it about you
Keeps me wanting more
Your eyes mesmerize me
And pull me into your world

Your body makes my pulse race
I undress you with my eyes
I wish it were just physical
I’d have walked away by now

I love the way your mind works
Even if I don’t always understand
You make me think about things
That I never have before

The way you make me smile
And the way you make me laugh
Is just another of your facets
That keeps me coming back

I love the way you accept me
Like it’s ok to be myself
I let my guard down around you
And I take off my many masks

You seem to understand me
Even with all my many quirks
You even seem to tolerate me
When I’m acting like a *****

There’s so much more about you
That I just can’t find the words
To tell all the reasons
That you're driving me  berserk

That’s why I keep staring at you
With such passion in my eyes
You're my fatal attraction
And that I can’t deny.

caught up in the game, he ran my mind tired.
i was crazed and my body wired.
staggered at the thought of being without,
my tired mind filled with doubt,
i couldn't live this one out.
my eyes scrambled from face to face,
heart to heart,
glancing,
gazing.
the innumerable parts to this true tale of two who never knew of this legends end were left isolated,
self-contained in their indigenous state.
warnings fired, screaming through the heavens,
rip-roaring,
adorned to the nines and past the elevens.
the immediate lash or forever's perpetual dream,
spiraling,
striking.
the masses laid down without a word.
silence.
not a soul resisted the fate of what was to become.
my mind was stormed,
clouded with the unmapped essence of nothing's everything.
so i too sat,
in silence and tears.

When they stripped me of the life in my bones
I looked to the stars,
and plucked the moon from its perch
with my lips.
And the rage in their fists
tried to pry it from my skull.
But they cannot win.
They may look down on us with their
hollow eyes that can do nothing but weep,
and their hungry mouths that spit ash.
But I know what hope is.
And They don't.
No matter how many times I am beaten
I swear that the birds that sing in my chest
will always be louder than them.
Tell me what holy is,
and I will tell you of the love in my veins.
Tell me why you hate so much,
and I will tear it apart with my shame.
I will split the night open with my words.
I will sweep up the ashes with my rage.
They cannot win.
Not when your eyes look through me like that.
And while you sew together my wings,
tell me of the love letters that God left
on your windowsill.
Tell me of the fists that left those scars.
When they finally bring me to the gallows,
make sure that the noose is made
from the strings of guitars.
Carve my spine into the heart of a tree.
Spread my ashes over the lips of the sea.
Tell me what holy is.
And I will take you to that river full of sin.
I will write my poetry in the snow with my bones.
Tell me where Gabriel is.
And I will clean the blood from his crippled wings.
I will be an immovable sky.
The mouth of the river that never ceases to sing.
They'll separate us with razor wire,
but a few cuts won't hold me back.
They'll scream at us with their empty taboos.
But the paintings I've got tattooed on my ribs
aren't black and white like their words.
I'm done hiding my heartbeat.
I want to taste the words that come off my tongue,
to paint with the dirt beneath my nails.
Say my obituary was written like a poem.
So that when God greets me at his gates,
he will tell me that I was alive.
That I wasn't empty like Them.
But I'm tired.
And I've walked one too many miles in my
own shoes.
But it's impossible to stop,
when you've got wings flapping in your chest,
and a heart that burns like a lantern.
Remember me like this.
Spouting words from the darkest corners
of my soul.
Words that stick to you like a lover's kiss.
It's a song.
A manifesto.
An epitaph that will stay burned in your eyes
until you blink away the tears.
I'll keep walking if you just carry me
on your back for a few short steps.
A couple of shallow breaths.
Just let me rest.
So that the next words that come out of
my mouth will be “I love you”.
And you'll see that the bruises on my back
are the notes of music.
Tell me what holy is.
So I can tell you why I keep moving.
So I can spread these wings you've built for me,
with the skin I've shed
and my broken bones.
And I'll teach you how to fly too.
Because life has no rhythm
unless you give it a beat.
Tell me what holy is.
And remember
that we
are not.

She puts her hand in his back pocket.
I know they're going home together tonight.

She's about as predictable as a fortune cookie (everything always ends in bed.)
In three days she'll forget the whole thing. (I wish everything in life was that easy.)

Today I realised my purpose of being -
I'm aging and waiting for the end of my living.
As each second passes another is lost,
for losing our seconds is our lives given cost.
You'll never feel, never see, never know this again;
this being now - and now - also then:
This is something we know, but ignored for it hurts.
But we can not forget - in memory it lurks.

Wait, no.
If the seconds are cost then what are we buying?
Is there no return that's not hurting or crying?
Have I forgotten the love, the joy in-between?
For each second pain is there not second dream?
I beg for a new eye, a new world to re-live in,
a new place with new laws and new people to believe in.
In this new world I'd be happy and free,
I'd be loved and love, I'd be lucky... not me.

No, I wouldn't be me, not in this world, anyway.
I'd be banished and gone, no new people, no betray.
I've ruined a world, but only the one,
or I've ruined my world, destroyed all the fun.
There's no more sins for me to adore,
they've all been spent leaving brilliant sore.
See I'm aging and waiting, and hurting and crying,
with the seconds I'm spending it must be this that I'm buying.
A blessèd reality, a trap painted gold,
manufactured promises with chances we've sold.
Sold for the seconds that I mentioned before,
the seconds we're spending on that brilliant sore.

*(Oh I really shouldn't think, I think way too much,
I see what this is, the world and the such.
Some people label it, call it depression,
I call it truth, just a big painful lesson.)

I went back to all the hate mail
I went back and retraced all my scars
I went back and followed you to the start

Of all the none believing
In your heart

You don't believe in
yourself
your face
your hair
your smile

You used to smile at me
and say things like
I wish I could make the pain go away

From his hands
His knuckles
His teeth

Everything he ever used to beat
you, break you, eat you
alive

I always thought he was broken
But I never thought he'd cut  you with
all the shards

I keep having dreams where you're
standing now

But you've been pushed down so low
That theres no getting out

I'm sorry I chose Mary Jane
I'm sorry I chose to Escape
I'm sorry I chose to Look away

But I'm not going back there
No way

I liked to think
I chose to leave
and You chose to stay

But I know you just
chose him
instead of liberty

Two boys
and girls
unclothed each other
simply at a picnic
flush with wine
alongside
sun-flecked trees.

The girls,
easy as the
forest round,
burned,
delicious,
as the boys
eager and nervous
in unequal measure
partly gave up
concealing
their joys
at forgetting
or remembering
in flickers
their bare bodies.

It went on
over nettles
and half-hours
and clambered
trees and
photos taken
almost formally
(on film,
of course).

And boyish lust,
at first sinuous,
a darting tongue,
began to
soften against,
for instance,
the sheer,
unthinkable
texture
of the two
girls carved
now backward
over the bough
of a storm-felled elm.

And there
in the embers
of evening
they learned
to thrill originally
at the vast,
gorgeous
and astonishing
irrelevance
of what
might happen next.

last lines,
but new thoughts
about old things.

i need to write about something else.
So here it goes--

today i slid down sand
steep dunes
rocks thrown,
old sofas.

and tried
to catch
a fish

all on a tuesday,
pollen-filled may
afternoon
and a steady friend
with a young heart

and a soft wind
by the lost pond
and suddenly
I can breathe.