i can't stay here
i can't stay away
i'm split bewteen
what to say

i love you
but you don't love me back
so i'll go hide
in my hearts crack

don't say you miss me
cause i know you don't
don't say you need me
i know i'm not what you want

the make believe of childhood reads
always seemed the most real-
to me

i'm the bone that you broke 
that never quite healed 
the same way again
familiar
yet slightly out of place
then you asked for a storm 
to break you in a familiar way
so i gave you silence 
and it was more 
than you could ever take
i write so much about grasping
at things i can't hold onto
like your hand 
since it's been slightly out of place
and now i'm not sure 
if i've been talking about you
or myself
they told me that the ink on the page
would replace you eventually
but i think i'm writing in your blood
and once the poetry 
is out of my system 
my veins will dry up 
and i'll look just like you

[holyoak]

I.

this room tastes like a storm on the sea:
salt crashes in waves
against the soft shore of my lips,
hot like thunder, hard as hail.

drenched, desperate, drowning,
fingers palm-deep in wet earth,
you infuse my blood with lightning,
fill my lungs with water,
pull me under--

a death knell floods our ears,
a furious cradle of waves;
our eyes shut, lashes silvered with rain,
mouths crushed, sharing one last breath,
electricity still humming at my core,
our bodies making
last promises

II.

the current lifts us to the surface;
we clasp each other and pray to the old gods
ignite us, belyse oss, strike us, ignite--

the sky yellows over us
and we taste petroleum on our tongues
and we dig in with fingers and limbs
we absorb each other, we hold--

your eyes are blue as the water
when the wind rips you from me--

ignite us ignite us

lightning breaks the tempest--

bathed in gasoline, we become
two flames in the sea,
inextinguishable.

although, my darling,
silence isn't really silence, is it?
silence is the sound of your breath
as it raises the hairs on my neck.
it's the heartbeat that keeps the time
to the soundtrack of this summer.
it's the soft ticking of the clock
as the hours drain away.
but, my dear,
there's no silence I'd rather spend
than with you.