I Google “how to get over a broken heart”
12,200,000 results in .76 seconds
I think about your hand between my thighs
get a bottle of whiskey
and tell myself I will never call you sober
One morning I woke up in your bed and you weren’t there
One morning I woke up in your bed and you were there
See, that’s the thing about being in love with a ghost
Ghosts make the worst tenants, I didn’t ask for this
I didn’t ask you to haunt me with the way you smack your lips after a drag of your cigarette, and the next one, and the next one. I didn’t want to remember the songs, the music playing in the background, us, the main performance, dancing in your sheets. I touch your forehead with my forehead. It’s sweaty. I find out that ghosts can sweat. Ghosts can tell you they like your new tattoos but all you hear is “There’s a reason I left after your first one”. If I got a tattoo for every time I thought about your lips they would run out of ink.
You’re like a foot of snow after the weatherman said showers
and I’m the mess they clean up in the morning.

I don’t get to write sad poetry anymore
Not when you nested between my ribs like a second heart,
beating an orchestra,
a whole concerto against my skin.
There’s gentle fingers on my scraped knees,
they don’t feel so painful anymore.

.
I cradle my head
in my palms

There's an inerasable vision
of hearts and bones
inwoven in a spider web

Untied forget-me-nots
writhing disentanglement

A collage of all the dead roses ,
tawny petals bestrewn across
a fallow frozen mind-scape ;

hidden behind eye-lid's
hesitantly arising curtain

just like a noir movie screen

I saw love disfigure me


                                                       *wild is the wind ... December 4th, 2016

let's go home then, both of us,
in a stride we found in asylums,
shaking, burning for above.
let the windows crack and doors snap shut,
never to be opened by hand again,
on the earth where passions sleep.
one day we will return there,
a world that we have never been,
our feet ache to ache after walking.