he drips water from his fingers-
hands that heal, mend,
give life
to the warm, brown soil.
his knuckles, red and swelling,
like a tree branch,
the height.
maybe his body holds the sun.
heat exudes from every pore-
the warmth.
I couldn't compare him to the sea,
the cold darkness, fruitless,
like me.
we live in contrasts.
everything he touches
comes to life;
everything I touch,
to stone.
so I wonder,
when we touch-
why doesn't that
feel wrong?

maybe i have never known fear.
is that this, seeping through my pores
holding my tongue steady, my feet
firm on the floor?
they say you have to have something
to lose. check that box. eyes
wild, hair overgrown, fingertips
unsteadily tracing patterns into my
bones.
something like a nightmare, sleep
paralysis. the only thing i see, speeding
heart, head pounding with possible
plans of exit, but cannot move, will
not.
but it is everything. everything. ever-
ything.
and i am terrified.

you won't break-
the sturdy metal bones,
your skin of shimmering soil,
teeth of opal.
so unlike me-
dishwater hair in curls,
porcelain skin,
aged paper bones.
fingertips raw,
you could scatter me
like dust, ash.
but you won't break.
i grind into you
with all my might,
feather and boulder,
somehow intertwined.
i know this,
you gently touch
your copper hand to mine.

i wish i could see you without me
rubbing the dust off of your feet.
your tired eyes and pale skin,
i wonder if they’re colored differently.
without me.
this is the life that you chose.
you wake in the morning alone.
you go home at night alone.
without me.
i wonder how you breathe
through thin lips and crooked nose
and how it is you sleep
after putting so many beers
down your throat.

in my memory,
your cold fingers in december:
over my jawline,
in my shirt,
across every crescent.
i felt each callous on my pores.
your scent seeped into me
through my bloodstream—
i was hooked.
i told you i couldn’t wait,
all but begged you to choose me,
i wanted to spend my life with you.
even worse, i still do.

i wish i could see you without me.
are you happy? do you
smile? does your laugh
rumble the way it used to,
the dimples in your cheeks
forming parentheses?
without me.

i’ve watched the fragments fall.
your calloused fingers hold the chisel
close but never enough
to completely split in two.
porcelain skin chipped,
unrecognizable by now.
i stood as still as a statuette,
i’ve allowed this every minute,
disregarded the repercussions
just to be beside you
only to be beside you
forming a pile of shards
beside you.
your warm, rough hands
and fixed eyes,
mind set to destroy me,
watch me crumble,
do nothing.

scatter me across the
places where we would meet:
the fire pit,
the dim lit street,
the padded arm
of the love seat.

a painted glass life
was never enough,
could never be enough.
but to be beside you…

once the sun met the moon
as we sat on a mountain cliff
it felt like years
our moments
my moon-silk and midnights
your burning eyes and fire days
i felt the earth move
rolling its weight under the dusty rocks
my lungs contracted,
my chest expands still,
to think i may be hollow like a bell
while you burn through energy and
cast it away.
once we could have danced
it was a thursday afternoon
but the rain soaked through my
first-date blouse and
it all ended way too soon.

i lie beside the open window
and let droplets from the storm
spray down upon the crystal clear slither of skin,
wrist and arm,
holding the curtain ajar.
i hear the notes like pirouettes,
the clatter on the faded brick.
it all comes clean with the storm.
collected like lost summer days
i sat waiting on your return.
and into pores, through blood stream,
i let it in like you
like the window open wide
as most were simple streams,
it and you were the tide.

mostly closing signs.
how long can droplets form
crystal clear moonlit storm
semi-circular on skin
why did i let it in?

but vast, the mountain-valley-sea.
the northern-south, western-east.
like window, mouth, my star-ly speech
i spoke in circles, or patterned veils
connecting points of light into darkened clouds.
let rest what lies, let stand what weaves
colored perfume, the sprinkled streets
the path before and the rift between.
i saw the sin long ago
curl within and build its nest
but this window
only works one way.