she let her blunt hang lazily between tight lips
i loved the way the smoke smelled as she exhaled
she couldnt resist calling me names she had made up for me
i cant say i mind that she calls me what she pleases.

sleep still in the corners of her eyes as she crawls out of bed
she could never know just how beautiful she is to me
underneath her false nails & eyelashes
lies a mysterious cavern waiting to be explored.

reluctant fingertips collide with her hips as we first kiss
how long have we been waiting for this, my dear?
delayed conversation carries on deep into the hours of the night
better late than never, i suppose.

120 hours, 7200 minutes, 43200 seconds until I have to leave again.

120 hours, 7200 minutes, 43200 seconds to make you fall in love with me.

120 hours, 7200 minutes, 43200 seconds to make up for all the lost time.

i asked her "where have you been all my life?"
the corners of her lips curled upward with her reply
"ive been waiting right here for you darling"
with sincerity in her eyes.

oh, but, lover... my innocence has come & gone
i ask you please refrain from abandoning me too.
for i must admit;
ive grown quite fond of you.

as i make my way back from California
like driftwood floating along the river
i smile & wave goodbye to you, my sweet
all though i know it is no consolation

you cant understand why i had to go
but there are many reasons i cant stay home

so as our last hour comes to an end
do not say farewell, my love, ill be back again

Cigarette between your
lips, smoke around
your face,
you are an angel.
You cloud your eyes with
depth and drink, and
coat your lips
with ash,
stale-**** breath in
your lungs.
You are not
bad, but the
goodness inside of you is the
size of an
ember from your
last cigarette.
You are tar and
toxins, hidden beneath the
sickly sweet tang
of nicotine.
You were intoxication,
a drink I abused because I
couldn't forget the taste.
You are a drug inside my
body, flowing through my
blood stream,
poisoning my veins.
You were never
good for me, but I
enjoyed the sickness,
the sweat,
the illusion that I
was a light you wouldn't
burn out.

I feel the caress of my own fingers
on my own neck as I place my collar
and think pityingly
of the kind women I have known.

Some love to watch the sea bushes appearing at dawn,
To see night fall from the goose wings, and to hear
The conversations the night sea has with the dawn.

If we can't find Heaven, there are always bluejays.
Now you know why I spent my twenties crying.
Cries are required from those who wake disturbed at dawn.

Adam was called in to name the Red-Winged
Blackbirds, the Diamond Rattlers, and the Ring-Tailed
Raccoons washing God in the streams at dawn.

Centuries later, the Mesopotamian gods,
All curls and ears, showed up; behind them the Generals
With their blue-coated sons who will die at dawn.

Those grasshopper-eating hermits were so good
To stay all day in the cave; but it is also sweet
To see the fenceposts gradually appear at dawn.

People in love with the setting stars are right
To adore the baby who smells of the stable, but we know
That even the setting stars will disappear at dawn.

So let me ask you then
how many nights I have spent lying on my kitchen floor like this
praying to a piece of paper that I find a way to make this all come out right?
And while I'm lying there have you tasted
the emptiness that settles on my lips as I count the stars on my fingertips
begging a soul I don't recognize any more to come and carry me?
Have you ever tried to hold something that heavy?
You don't make it far before you're dragging your feet
around a promise nobody had to make, but was clear

It was clear that you loved me more than I
always knew you did.

So let me ask you then
how I spend the time I don't have on fixations like that
hallucinating that I see your feet by my door or your name on my telephone?
And while I'm smudging my eyes from the minute reminder
that I waited longer than me and the god that holds me now knew I should have
I turn to the clock that haunts me.
Have you ever tried to feel how long that is?
You don't realize it until you're twenty-five staring the same blue-eyed problem in the face,
that grew from the memory you have of him as a kid you tossed through,
and you're wondering how you managed to scrape through with the amount of dignity
you gaze at in the reflection of the mirror.

I know that you love me more than I
always knew you did.

So let me ask you then
how come we aren't better than this?
How come it's 12:28 in the morning and I'm waiting on a call I'm never going to get?
How come we bank through changes with a common hand in hand,
but we can't make it through to see the sunrise?
How come we aren't better than a vulnerable night, a couple drinks, a wish
between the sheets of a bed with no destination that somehow
we'd wind up back in the fragmented places we've been?

How come we always want more, but we can't have it now?

How come you won't have me now?

When I know that you love me more than I
always knew you did.

Have you ever held your hand still
Just above a river’s passing water
Liquid rushing by reaching for your skin
Jumping up; eager to commune with you
Beckoning you to dip a finger in