Oh, how I fear this day.
My love. My life.
How I long to follow,
that we may wash together,
that we may beat upon the salty rocks,
until the milky flow sinks far below the light.
May we sink until the day burns no more.

Oh, how I fear the time.
Let there be just one last day;
just one last sun
in one last place
that I finally find your memory fade.
May you burn in me the ash of all,
anew.

Oh, how I fear my will.
Forget me,
that I may be ******.
Bind my hands that I may never hold you.
Cover my eyes that I know not when you are near.
Seal my lips that we may never touch again.
Let me slip below; part your fingers,
cast my blood, and set my flesh
that I may never be tested,
and you may never need remembrance.
My love. My life.

The Fence

In upturned pose, a rusty row.
In soft supple skin does nail find placid purchase.
I cut my arm on the fence, I say.
An accident.

Years later, I’ll tell you about that night.
You’ll say it can’t be and I’ll forgive you;
I’m sure you didn’t know, I say.

The first time we met was six days ago.

Your hair spilled down
from under a yellow salt stained cap.
Shimmering vines of copper and gold.
They plead with me:
Just pull yourself up,
meet my gaze,
crash into the overindulged lips that I frame.
And press against the freckles that map
these perfectly delicate features.

Until we meet again; in a summer or two.
You’ll be different.
I’ll understand how this feels.
The idea of you will become more complex
and I’ll know what you meant to me.
That one summer, in love.

But we’re blood.

If it’s cold enough, I can taste it after just the third mile.
It reminds me that I’m running from something.

A sweetly acrid mist settles in my throat,
unable to fully flush out.

I am seduced by the rhythm of my pace
until there is only my breath.

Drifting through the shadow of my pain
there is only time. Soft, pillowy time.

Down the middle of my thigh.
Down in the valley when the light catches it right.
Muscle wrapped over muscle.

It’s how he used to kiss my legs,
his arms wrapped around my knees.

After a shower it looked like purple moss
pressed up under my skin.
I’ll tell everyone it happened at softball.

It’s all over the floor, I thought.
I’ll never get these towels clean.
This time it split like a straw.
If I could stand, I’d surely slip
and break my neck.

The first time it came in rivulets of pink.
I thought of jumping back in,
never to surface again.