You were the story I would never write
the dog-eared pages in my favourite books
and the highlighted words in the best poems i knew
you were my 6am coffee and my midday sun
and the twilight that illuminated the walls of this old house
you were the sunset that hid behind the ocean
before arising again as the moon, from the earth
my heaven, my universe and all of my stars
I let you become a god and you eventually turned to myth
we wrote legends about you, ballads and tragedies,
and i saw the sunlight leak from your eyes
and spill onto this concrete over months of aching
golden ichor that seeped into the cracks of the soil
you made flowers grow where you bled, and there were stars,
stars instead of tears when you cried
When i cried with you, and we built a new universe
one entirely our own, no demons, no monsters,
no angels and gods and cruel humans can find us here
we fly together
we die together
you and I until the end

I like to
  kiss your
    liquid
      lovers
        lips
                       ­            dissolving sugar sweet majesty
                                                         ­                                      your highness
        kneeling to the
      queen of
    centuries

I live in first quarter of the moon
  mixing tapes
   to match
                                                           ­                the rhythms of the maiden
        with the
                                                             ­                    melodies of the mother

                                          I will love you in secret

Of it, the state must not know                      Out, the fire must not blow

do
  not
    let
      them
        burn
          me
    ­        alive

            I promise
          to keep
        my commitments
      cataloged and
    separate my
   chastity in one drawer
  my sensuality in
another

                                                     ­                                               I can be both

                                                           ­       I can be both

                                I can live on as an empire

and exist as the city in ruin

I will bear the sword and
  wear the heavy paws
    in the belly of the Colosseum
                                                       ­                             I will sit on the balcony
                                                         ­                         bored and eating grapes
                                                          ­                                               calling out
"Execution!"

There is a jar on my nightstand
Full of little scraps of paper.

When good things happen
I write them down and put them in that jar
Because I never want another year to end
Without there being proof that joy existed within it.
Anything happy, anything hopeful, anything lovely, I scribble down
And pile in that jar for safe keeping.

There is a jar on my nightstand
Full of little scraps of paper.
Today I wrote your name on one
And dropped it in.

i see him there every day
he always watches me
the town people call him stray
he calls himself free

"there's big fish under this bridge"
he points to a submerged stone
"that's where the whale lives"
I cast my line toward it's home

the old man smiled and watched me cast
idle hands and vicarious eyes
"don't try to set the hook too fast"
"this whale is really wise"

my line went tight, i felt the pull
i yanked with all my might
too hard headed to follow the rule
'let him take a big ole bite"

i threw my pole, and fell in the water
the old man only laughed
he said "look on the bright side"
"at least you got a bath"

(his smile made the water shimmer brighter
his laughter sang with the birds...)

"i'll be back soon to claim my prize
with a heavier pole and line
for me to catch a whale that size
it's going to take a lot of time"

now when i see the old man
we talk of the ones that got away
his wife, his kids, his life
and the fish i lost that day