Lately I'm so tired,
like an asteroid lost in orbit.
Set fire to a match
and now I'm burning for it.
But if there is anything
left I'm sure is true:
Honey, I am tired,
but I'm not tired of you.

Constantly so puzzled
when the pieces just don't fit.
Down the road, I'll work it out,
I feel so sure of it.
Oh, but when you kiss me,
who could care if that was true.
Honey, I am puzzled
but not ever about you.

For so long I've been in love
with no one but myself.
Hid all of the step ladders
and my heart on the top shelf.
The thing just gathered dust,
something I never meant to do.
But you brushed it off and now
I'm so in love with you,
so deep in love with you.

My breath,
light and quickening,
candle flame flickering,
rose-scented sweat
     on my skin

Your fists,
clenched like iron grips,
backs arched to our tips,
bridging where we'll go,
     where we've been

But tomorrow,
in the sunrise,
with both of us here,
will you think about me?
or about her and everything?
The kindling you saw in her eyes
when she told you
if she wasn't his,
you'd be hers
(and if you not mine,
then her, yours).

When I grabbed at the sheets
and you grabbed for your jeans
Was it about your hurry?
or about her and everything?
Everything, everything, all of and anything,
anything that is not me.

I can feel,
acutely,
the chasm in my chest.
Perhaps
it was Lewis
who thought and said it best.

My words are stifled echoes,
my mangled hands are tied,
and the heavy doors of Hell
are locked from the inside.

The leaf and the petal
Earth elemental
Rich soil
from which spring sprouts spirit.

The honey and metal
Forged in a kettle
Will whistle
for all who will hear it.

They meet in the meadow,
this lady and fellow.
Ignite, and catch flight
on the wind.
Stardust and cinder
from fusion of splendor
return to the ether again.

Smooth and sure,
like he shaves with Ockham's razor,
he's knocking on her door
at 2 AM.

What's more
is you'd think that it would phase her,
but she walks right down the stairs
to let him in.

Fifteen cents in my pocket
feels like losing.
Each drag leaves me a dime
and five grams of coin,
a fiend.

An addict never gets his change
in ones.
Just fives and tens.