I am the sort
whose love will perch
cross-legged
on a kitchen counter top and
watch
the snake-tongue sizzle
of my heart
diced and flying
in your un-greased
frying
pan while you so innocently
sautee
the thick skin of what could
once have made you
cry
and run so easily
and only then will you look up
as if to say
"are you up for a little stir
fry
tonight?"

Would you
lend me the last few
dregs
of your aging green
tea? And would you
mind if all I
kept
was their taste on my
tongue? If you want them
back
I've got their memory
but kiss me
fast.
This dusky memory won't
last.

ten words
I simply can't
   escape you
but do I want to?

haiku
you caress my mind
delicately with soft words
    I miss your hands more

10 words
difficult to imagine
your grace and charm
wasted
               on Texas.

haiku
chairs and warm coffee
I sit obsessed with letters
your envelope, brown

10 words
I want you
to move back.
Home- be with me

haiku
I can't really press
you will make your own choices
But I stay hopeful.

10 words
maybe
someday
soon, you
will come back around this direction.

haiku*
confession of mine
I dream of your voice and hands
startled, awaken.


I've said some things
to you, in the past
in that space/time
     continuum that

have whipped me into shape

            why I thought
I could do better than
                               you

I have no idea


but I hope you dance
                    more now

      and I hope you
never lost your sweet
                            smile

Because when I can't
   sleep,      I
throw the blankets off of me,
and I think hard- imagining
a perfect relationship

                      and realize
that perfection does not exist

      but I always
think,
                     "I got pretty
close to perfect
             with you."

Your fingertips -
                                     as if covered in black ink
                                                                          or mud -
   have left markings on my hips

                     where you pushed your
                                      hands into me,

your lips left love on my skin


and the places you would plunge into me

             and I would dive into you, too

is a place
       that aches as I write this

is a place of forgiveness
                                        of giving

and your fingertips pressed into my
                   skin
                            and weaved through
                                      my hair

my scalp only gave
                                      and we pulled
                            each other and pushed
                             even harder until
I rose to the top -
                  then you.

I have not written
                     anything worthwhile
in months
                   other than the words
I send you,    in bleached white
                                         envelopes

and even though, poetry is somewhat
                                                         absent,


you   are    not.


                  and you are a wonderful
                                      replacement


but now I realize -
                                 I can have both.


Because sweet sweet,
                               you are poetry

you live in my chest and you

ignite me, a catalyst for

      these words-         a place
for them to grow

                      you allow me to be
                        me.
and you do this very simply-

by loving what I do. You

think I'm so talented, but I know

that some of it is just a
self-fulfilling prophecy.

                     You tell me
             I write beautifully -
      that you appreciate my poems.



Can't you see?
                           That's why  I

                               write them.

Can't you see?
                          You are
                                     my poetry.

All you want to hear is how you did me right
and never on the marks you left on my wrist
from holding too tight.
The floor is ebbing away at my ankles
cloaking my feet in an eerie comfort
How can you love me
when I am sinking in this inky black
fighting for expression, creation, reincarnation.
Don't tell me I'm too cruel--
when my gaze is fixated on a drive
where the words are lost in the motion commotion
waves of self-doubt and fear.

I am sorry I was built from fire
with the weight of my ancestors
hanging on my shoulders.
I'm sorry I never had plans
to settle down somewhere
to fly into the air somehow
I'm sorry I never wanted to be sorry
but forgive me if you can't forgive
hold tighter--I'll slip through the cracks
with the grooves of your lips still ingrained in my memory--
and forget me if you care enough to forget
of this false emotional monster.

It seems as though
I always want to talk to you
But our conversation comes at a cost
Because every word spoken
Puts me one word closer
To the last words I'll ever say to you.

With hope I could forever speak
With reason and love aimed at your heart
Taking your ears and making them listen
To what I need you to hear
Before you cannot hear anymore.

Carefully I select the sounds I speak
As not to choose the wrong ones
Picking silently in my head
The memories I would like to leave behind
In every moment I spend with you.

I know the last words I will say to you.
They are in my head now
Dancing on my lips
Teasing your ears
But I will not say them.
Not now.
Instead,
I will say them when it is time
For them to be true.

I do hope, however, that when that time comes
You will have already said them
To me.

i don't want for anything.
i don't have a single
deep-seated desire
running about in
my brain,
driving me
crazy.

i have everything that i need.
i don't lie awake at night
i don't wonder
i don't ask what if
i don't
i don't

what will it take to convince you
that i don't need anything?
i don't want anything
i am content
i am content
i am content
i am content
i am content

but what if i