soon enough
i will have dreamt myself
weary
of us

the presence
of your absence
will fade

soon enough
the need to relive your touch
reread your texts
will ebb out

the shadow of your kisses
will be oddly
tasteless

and then
one day  

i will have walked past
your apartment
without realising
your lights
were on

I think you loved me out of obligation
You needed a project, I needed salvation.

When roses grew between my lips and my place in your bed, you picked them and offered them to Someone else instead.

i really love
the thought of being in love
but i don’t really love
when push comes to shove
you off the bridge
into reality
where we
were never meant to be
this love things an illusion
a man made fallacy

and your ring finger
only holds a shiny rock
because his promise of forever
is long gone
with his ****
down her throat
as she’s on her knees
choking back
secrets of her own
because little
does he know
her husband
is at home
all alone

and neighbor is laying
with a pretty boy
between her legs
that distracts
from the one
laying in her head
and they fall asleep
in a mess of a bed
to wake up
and pretend
to be in love instead
of facing
the loneliness and dread

so we get off
completely unaware
that love is a lie
to pretend we are fine
i would love
to be in love
if it was love
i could trust
but there in no love
in this world, only lust

s.s

Piano and guitar playing light songs
soft tape, fresh rain, streets oblique
christmas lights on her walls like she
lives in a dorm, eucalyptus smelling
fresco paintings with 666s on them
bring on the full Fall, dim cars
outside and their alarms or engines
in the pause of our sleepy conversations
we go in deep when we’re satisfied with
the noise we’ve made

August burned quickly, incipient nostalgia
prematurely vanished, mellow and gentle
sea stone on the tiled table, cedar plank
with fish, sunset through the eye-slit window

thigh high in life and riding wherever life
takes me like a hopeless romantic

We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.