I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.

I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.

I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.

I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.

And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
Only...
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,

"I love you."

Maybe it was weird that I didn’t move my hand

When it rested against yours

Or that I didn’t move my leg when our knees touched

Or that when we slept facing opposite directions

So we could share the same pillow

I pretended to be asleep when my lips touched your forehead

Just so we could be close a minute longer

I know I cry in my sleep

But you don’t have the same dreams I do

And you don’t have that awkward belief

That all people fit like puzzles if you press hard enough

What the hell do you think hugs are?

Or holding hands is?

I know I can’t accidentally fall into you

And sure

maybe it’s weird that I rub my socks into the carpet

With the sole purpose of shocking you

But how else do you make sparks fly?

I know that my life’s story is an open book I tell so well

My pages are shameless

And my words are honest

And yeah

I know I stare at your mouth when you speak

It’s just that

Eye contact freaks me out

And I’m sorry I spaced out while you were talking

It’s just that I was staring at your lips

And I suddenly wanted to kiss you

I know I have no filter

And am practiced in the art of bad timing

And poor explanations

But we’re only human

We only want simple things

Like to be needed by other humans

Go ahead

Need me like a parasite

I’ve already got so much excess baggage

The weight of your monkey on my back

Might as well be an anchor

Keeping me next to you

There should be dents in your memory foam by now

Pretty lady

There are dents in my cheeks from all the smiling you cause me

And I’m pretty sure you could light a match

From the heat in my face

So I am sorry if I can get a little creepy

It just means I like you

I think you'll be
disappointed
when
I whisper sweet
nothings
in your
ear.

There are days when the sun
speaks through windows
speaks through anchors,
cast through windows,
of light. Soft, elegant,
swirling entities,
to claim your picture frames,
to claim your clothes,
to claim your keys,
your shoes, your change, your favorite chair, your favorite cup,
stagnant dregs of your spit
on the rim.

Yeah, there are some days when I wake up
and your smell on the sheets
burns my nose,
creeps into my eyes,
razor wire finger tips
split my pupils, wide.

There are some mornings when the hard
lasts longer than the time
I’ve got to give,
and there are others
when I’ve got the world to explode,
yet no one to show.

And there are nights when I dig
deep into those same sheets,
and I look,
for you, for me, for that smell, for us,
the smells of us,
those that set us free, and full,
from hunger, thirst, lust, death,
life.

There are nights when I stare outside,
the porch light brimming with beetles
and moths and gnats and flies and sometimes
the occasional *****.
Some days are just like that, I guess.
The T.V. hasn’t been turned on
since you left.
but a lot of other things have.

I love you more than taking out the trash
And more than when my itch becomes a rash

I love you more than doing dishes
And more than when death greets my fishes

I love you more than changing my cat’s litter
And more than when my tea is bitter

I love you more than lukewarm bath water
And more than dragging a lamb to slaughter

I love you more than long line-ups
And more than a child loves dead pups

He's part artist, part alchemist,
but a full-on con, self-professed with post-
graduate degrees in mixology
and the god-given sense to know which
smoldering home remedies will catch fire
(give or take an occasional legal glitch).

His healing pitch is grifted on the easy
comparison of queasily lowered brows to
their indistinctly raised betters. You'll doff
the scoffing face as he pulls back a masking
caparison, and your fever gallops hotly
hoof-in-mouth with an uncontrollable itch.

Tinctures, colloids, salves and potions,
they all have twisty caps, blithe boxes
bubbling over with hypnotic patterns
fashioned to cure your urge to avoid
his futility. First'll come the ******, then
the crumple followed by purse strings loosening.

Don't consider it capitulation.
His assortment of fluid manipulations
bear a singular branding at 100 proof,
and after the recommended daily dosing
(two jiggers with each meal), you'll feel
you're **** erectus made sapient.

She ate at a table for two,
coffee, bagel, solitude.
She brought her mouth to the spoon,
not once looking down at her food.

She searched the current instead,
a flying flock of quick steps.
Her face is blurry at this distance.
Ahead she sat, in her brown sweater,
buried into the brick wall behind her.

Her unsettled eyes stand out, shifting.
A fingertip drummer skips a beat, finger nail high hat
–enter green shirt, large, red, back pack –
and then a solo.
A low, bass heart lifts in crescendo.

She stands, hello, she sits,
a white daisy field of smiles.
He curtains the show.
Now I look down to watch
her shadow.

Always in danger, his life on the line
Death being ever present in this land
They sent him here to defend his country
Thus is the life of a US soldier

The native peoples in this dying land
despise his presence; his merciless work
Thus is the life of a US soldier

His woman leaves him lying frozen, and
forgotten on an Afghani mountain
Thus is the life of these US soldiers

Bullets unleashed by the Mujahideen
cause American blood to mix with the mud;
the same blood that covers the young medic’s hands
Thus is the life of a US soldier

The mortar lands only a few feet away
and the boy becomes apart from his legs
Thus is the life of a US soldier

While the sergeant is screaming
               Return Fire!
A private cries out for his distant mother
Thus is the life of a US soldier

Eventually their tour comes to an end, and
they board the plane that is pointed towards home
yet fifteen seats are empty; no soldiers
               will use these seats to return home this day.
Thus is the life of a US soldier

Having done their job, they can rest for now;
rest until they are sent back to the land
they have so rightly named “the nation of death”
Thus is the life of a US soldier

The plane soon lands; the men will stand, anxious
to lay eyes on their forgotten homeland
Thus is the life of a US soldier

He will exit the plane and she is waiting
but she won’t be able to recognize him
because the scars on his face disguise him;
his sunken eyes betray his identity
Thus is the life of a US soldier

Another warrior weeps as he hugs his wife
and she hands his daughter into his arms;
he holds his infant for the very first time
Thus is the life of a US soldier

Twelve months later the men will board that plane again
and leave the land they have sworn to defend
Thus is the life of a U.S. Army Soldier.

I guess when you finally lay it all out

Like pairs or spades or hearts

The deck looks the same as it did

Before you removed a few cards.



I guess when you finally throw out the words

Like an old thought scribbled down on paper

The words never reach anyone else’s eyes

So they never really existed.



I guess when you finally let it all go

Like the balloon you accidentally released

It was never a part of your life long enough

To leave that empty space in your chest.



I guess when I finally let you go

I can breathe in the world again

Even though no one will ever notice

Since you were never mine at all.