i'm one quiver away from an opening act -
one clutch of the sheets from a bottle of red wine.
i'm three scratches away from new york city,
and a whisper or two from the top of the world.

i can't feel your hands moving rough against my skin,
but i can feel the chords snaking their way through my veins.
i can't see your ceiling fan working its lazy way in circles
or the crack in your wall from too many nights of rain,
but i can see the silhouettes of a full house through a film of smoke
settled just below the track lights.
i can't hear your breath catch or my name fall from your lips,
but i can hear whistles and catcalls and the ring of a telephone.

tell them i'm on my way. tell them i'll catch a plane.
tell them they made the right choice this time.

choke me, fill me, scar me, **** me.
i'll bleed, but the headlines will  be worth it.

we sat in silence here.
i always knew where to find you.
purging yourself of pain or drinking in happiness,
you were here.
but if you walked through those doors now,
would you remember it at all?
would you remember us?
there were birds here.
birds whose songs echoed off the wood floors.
birds whose feathers whispered along with us.
we sat in silence before their cage.
contemplating their wings.
mapping their flight.
plotting their rescue.
what if we ripped through the bars?
what if we toppled the towers?
would our souls finally swoop and reel?
would we feel as free as they would?

velvet melodies float lazily
from wood floors to vaulted ceilings
as you tell stories not just with your voice,
but with the tendons in your hands,
the curve of your lips,
and the wolf grey rounds of your eyes.

every word sends me spinning
into a place i've never been.
every letter, carefully dipped in honey,
sticks to my senses.

i am caught up in your goodness
like butterflies catch themselves on flower petals.
i am awestruck as baritone laughter rises into the air,
mingling with the scent of dust and dogwood trees.

and as the sun begins to lower itself into the river,
i realize that time means nothing
when the hands of the clock are entangled
in the dizzying twirl that is your presence.

we touch for a moment
and fate reminds me that sometimes
bodies collide and spark
the same way that stars do.

at the break of a red dawn,
my ship was blown off its course
by faint steel strummings
and honey soaked whispers
sailing away from the shore
with the west wind.

my rigging's tied in knots
and my maps are torn to pieces.

push me from the gangplank;
send me to the locker -
every compass tells me i'm lost again.

the hands that held mine ripped my throat out.
layers of muscle, thick strands of tendons,
snapped in two by an iron grasp.

the mouth that once kissed mine ripped my heart out.
delicate veins, pumping arteries,
severed and snapped by razorblade teeth.

love left me
bruised and beaten
on the bedroom floor.

i hope you find one of your own.
i hope she is everything i am, everything i'm not.
i hope ivory skin lures you in
and the scent of lavender is enough to choke you.
i hope mahogany curls tangle around your neck
and midnight eyes burn to your core.

i hope her lips, red as blood, are pressed against yours
when she slides the knife straight through your heart.

how could you extinguish my light
when i was made to shine for you?

even in my youth, i did not dream of evil.

i could not fathom devils or demons
endlessly circling around a fiery pit -
painting their whispery words onto the pages
of other children's fairytales.

before i shut my weary eyes and closed the pages
of yet another gold gilted storybook, i thought to myself,

"i cannot imagine evil" -

not one dragon's white hot flames;
scorching the stone foundation of a dark tower
where a porcelain princess patiently awaits the end of a solitary life -
braiding and unbraiding golden hair until her fingers bleed.

"i cannot imagine evil" -

not one prince's frustration as
soft lips and slender hands are torn from him
and all that is left of his newfound beloved
is a sparkling slipper carressing the castle stairs
while the twelfth boom of a clock still lingers in the evening air.

no, i did not dream of evil in the twilight before sleep.

i dreamt of a delicately aging queen,
sick with worry when her dear stepdaughter did not return
from the twisted woods before the rising of a silvery moon.

i dreamt of her graceful arms outstretched for a gentle embrace
as the huntsman and the raven haired girl enter the glass hall,
hand-in-hand,

a basket of innocent ruby apples
swinging in time between them.