Don't make love sound like wispy trees.
It's a bad commercial on a static age-old tv
on replay in the darkest corner of the apartment covered in cobwebs.
The stale air around it from keeping your windows shut
tight and the door locked with words stuffed in between its hinges.
Maybe love can warm ice cold hearts that have
frozen over from the heat of hypothermia.
Perhaps it has the ability to perpetuate that
painful kind of longing for a bed so small it doesn't
make you feel alone when you end your day staring blankly into the ceiling.
Many kinds of ghosts will haunt you in their wake
when you think that you could be safe.
But death and decay exist as ice cream flavours
in that abandoned parlor down on 79th street like
the broken frames you see in the alleyway still
holding flash-frozen memories of the distant past
and things that will never be again.
Walk down streets covered in dried leaves and
the stench of potpourri in the air reminding you
of a time with flare skirts and victorian columns.
You might feel the gazes on your neck in ounces
of gleeful displeasure and tantalizing advancements
but love is not always a lustful venture.
You've gotten used to the layer of dust enveloping your skin
and the celestial cocoon keeping you on the barren side
of the decaying hedge.
The whispers and groans from swings will tell you stories
of great loves and greater passions and you will quiver
underneath the weight of finding a love that fits you
the same way lakes drown in the midst of forests
Take a walk past the buildings erected from ideas of efficiency
and settle in a nest that breeds the quirkiest of all sounds
underneath a clear midnight sky
Let weeping willows hold you close and tangle your fingers
in languid bodies of water, unashamed and unafraid
Dust your bookcases and let the deep sighs of your floorboards speak.
Let the phone lines crackle and the panels heave.

(m.e.)

We are looking for reasons to look at each other
Like the rain wasn't already enough to incite our souls
Like the oceans weren't vast enough to make us question
"What exactly are you trying to avoid?"
"What exactly are you running from?"
And our need to find exact representations of what we are trying to say
when the weight of the darkness is heavy and the pressure in the air
like the tension in our lungs isn't already enough
Because describing the ocean without considering
rapid currents and forces pulling us in the direction
that drives us away from one another
Walking in silence trying to avoid the clump
in our throats when the nothingness of all things is aching
Reaching out but not searching hard enough
not looking at the longing like it's the only thing holding us together
"What exactly do you want?"
"What exactly are you trying to fight?"
When you're close to what you want and you're separated
by blistering tornados that want to blow you into smithereens
Like you hadn't already tried running only to realize
you were running from yourself and your secrets
Thinking that maybe you weren't trying to convince yourself
of things that you're not even sure you understand
Because understanding means letting go of
the things you never once believed until now could be yours
"Where exactly will you go?"
"What exactly do you want to see?"
And the exact measurements the seamstress
tried to tell you about burn your eyes
The stinging in your hands and the burning
of trees isn't going to reduce the danger factor
in looking for cracks in fine China
STOP RUNNING.
STOP RUNNING.
"Do you have anywhere to go?"
"Do you have anyone to run to?"

(m.e.)

She sits against the wall every night

2:18 AM

“That’s a good time,” he once said.
Going over every lost moment and every out-of-reach laugh
Mentally comparing the feel of his hands to the roughness of dried concrete
And letting her mind wander in the middle
Of deserted parks with empty benches
Every once in a while, she’d gasp for air
Like she was drowning in her deepest thoughts
A cigarette in hand and a cold blanket of wind
She felt comfortable in corners
Said, having two walls support you the way a lover’s hands should

2:30 AM

“It’s time to leave,” she’d whisper.
Unmoving but eyes constantly searching the oblivion she was in
Hands shaking not from the drop in temperature
But from the emptiness of holding onto nothing
Closing her eyes to listen to the secrets between the rustling leaves
And the howling wind
Now and then she’d take a deep breath
The same way tourists savor their experiences

3:00 AM

“You’re not coming back,” a resounding thought.
Holding back the wracking sobs threatening to escape its confines
Like an animal in a rusting iron cage
Quakes travelling from fingertips to the emptiness in her chest
“You’ll forget,” they said.
And you do.
You forget the body heat, then the voices
Faces will begin to blur until they’re completely gone
And you’re left with a static memory
of the person that you lost to accidents and circumstance

4:00 AM

She leaves.