Silence cannot be found in shadow;
     silence inhabits the green rooms of the heart.
Silence cannot be drawn from misery;
     silence lives on only when life is full.
Silence thrives when we are loud;
     silence can be found, only in certainty.

Do not ask me to be patient.
Do not ask me to lay suspended
     in apathy until the world turns for me.
Until pages turn themselves.
Until my lungs turn cancerous before I'm done hurting them.
Do not ask me to be faithful.
Do not ask me to stare into your eyes
     in love and hold onto them forever.
Do not ask me to be pure.
Do not ask me to get drunk
     only on communion wine and bow to
a God that doesn't need the minister I'm *******.

Tie me in knots
     and drag your nails through my flesh.
Tear me open
     until orchids bloom from every laceration.
Take everything you want;
     only I ask that you put me back together again,
and trim the flowers back below my skin.

Early ******* to blasphemy
     and morning chorus on the solstice;
gentle white twilight
     and the earth tumbling around,
asleep.

What do you want, then?

Do you want marvels?
     Do you want comets,
do you want the entire night sky
     pooled in the bow of your collar bones?
Do you want love?
     Do you want heartache,
do you want spring blossoms
     flourishing between the lattice of your entwined fingers?
Do you want hope?
     Do you want burning smiles,
do you want the crushing weight
     of space, plummeting inside your chest?
Do you want pain?
     Do you want the broken places,
do you want the earth falling from its axis
     so you can find your place?

The Amstel. Christ.
Kilner jars full of fireflies
     on redbrick windowsills.
Hormone therapy. Jesus.
Angel boys from Europe
     trailing around behind me wondering -
and not caring - what the hell is in my pants.
Cold morning breezes
     on scarred chest tissue and needle puncture marks.
Rows and rows of bicycles
     and a fluttering pink scarf in the wind.
Roaring screams and sexless smiles
     cold split knuckles and nonchalant breath.

I see you, now.
Anxious, thick-skinned man; and his
     jumped-up, bird-***** boy.
Wet feet sloshing on lazy floorboards,
     footprints of a ghost.
Devoted eyes, devoted hands,
     flecked with aureolin and azure.
Wild eyes, shaky hands,
     speckled with blood and dirt.
Why have you dragged him here to see me,
     yet again?

I'm sorry.
You can't fall in love temporarily.
Even if it's just a fleeting moment
     across the street or between supermarket aisles.
Moments are forever, now.
What I say now will be true, always.
This feeling now will be true, always.
I'm sorry.

The smell of woodsmoke in your hair,
     dampened by the shower fog.
The subtle morning chorus,
     the hungover smell of ***,
the tangle of our ankles beneath the pillows.

Low lights.
Low hum, clinking of cups, blurred coffee stains on a napkin.
Soft touch.
Soft laughter, squeaking of torn up leather seats,
     fogged up windows and bicycle bells.
Fault lines on the top of a crème brûlée
     and on the backs of your hands.

Stomach ulcers; turpentine in your tea.
Bleeding gums and missing teeth; self-hate fight-club.
**** and **** and *****; ****** underwear and nameless boys.