Last night I dreamt of you
And it brought back repressed
Memories of shedding my skin
Beneath your cigarette
Stained fingertips

It makes me wonder
About the difference between
Falling apart
And
Falling into place

You showed your teeth
At me in that sly smile
And I cringed

My nerve endings
Were fried
Beneath your fiery palms
And ashtray lips

It makes me think about
Your hands and my blood
Your hands and lighters
Your hands and gunpowder
My hands and your neck

Last night I dreamt of you
This morning I woke up
And washed it away with hot water

A mask and a face are virtually the same to me and whenever everything comes crashing around me, it's not the mask the leaves but the face that bleeds, leaving perforated scars as masqueraded lies, and I will swear to you that I am fine.

thy heart
indeed
a collection of memories
crafted for
the heart
to forgive
love
trust
and
be lifted

I never saw the same love in you twice
Black was for hate
Innocence for white
You're insecurities were green
Wasn't that your favorite feeling?
The depression was blue
And anger was red
Funny that's the color I always thought of you as
Purple for the royalty you think you are
How did things fall that far?
This chameleon love could only go on for so long
What made a rainbow so wrong?

you're a social studies teacher
Trying to teach English
Stop.
Like no just stop
Before I come over there and hurt you
K thanks

Finishing off the last swig of the last beer, I sit back.
All I can hear is the slow heavy, drowsy soul slipping off the notes the trumpet is playing from the small stereo – the perfect notes, hit in just such a way. The surely dark rooms where these notes were recorded. Once upon a time, somewhere somehow so far away now. A different, better world.
The view of the romantic.

“Hold me close in old – this is la vie en rose” Louis Armstrong sings. I want to be the lover of Louis. I want to be the girl who’s eyes he is looking into so deeply it almost hurts- almost tangible; “Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be la vie en rose-” he sways again.

And then again with the trumpet- there’s nothing like it. Nothing in this world.
Not to a lonely girl like me on a Friday night.

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