real love is boring
in the best way.

real love is excitement
to do all the boring,
adulthood stuff with you.

real love is frustration
that will not outweigh our happiness.

real love is coffee
coffee mate, 1 sugar, ready
as soon as the sun meets our eyes.

real love is family
with four fuzz butts at our sides.

real love is happiness
in all the small, day to day things
we do together day by day.

real love is lust
just from stroking your side.

real love is morning breath kisses;
i scrunch my nose
then come back for more.

real love is choosing you
every single time, no matter who asks.

real love is fighting
and just wanting to stop,
cuddle regardless of who was right.

real love is working together,
balancing duty and quality time.

real love is security
and feeling safe with you
no matter where we are.

real love is us.
in any time or universe, i want us to be us.

i had a kind face, and the kind of smile
only a brother could love
and read beyond the teeth,
biting back bitter amusements
of a broken, brooding boy

you were mine; not in blood but in love,
and we were too small and too young
with too much and not enough
of everything.

brother.
“brother”
bromance.
the lie of the year,
and we had many.

i had chronic denial and you had chronic rejection.
if we said we saw ourselves as siblings,
it would all go away.
my brother from another mother
not a brother at all, but a lie
the hidden gay.

i had a kind face, but you were kind
and i wanted to be that
for you, a light against the shadowy history
the trajectory from ruin to wholeheartedness

you were already wholehearted,
and wholeheartedly in.
brother, i ruined you by calling you brother
with my fear of our friendship: the trajectory from friends to more

now everything between us is gone
and it still feels rather sore
even though i don’t love you anymore

i’m not afraid to say it,
i need it out there so the world knows
how much i love you and how much i treasure you,
and how i’m not ready for you to go
but you deserve to be free of pain
even if life won’t be the same

i’m so thankful you kept your daddy happy
long enough for me to meet him
and that you two shared so many memories
so many journeys, so many stories
and i’m so thankful you became my baby girl too,
that the memories you two had together
are memories you let me see,
and so thankful i have my own memories of him and you and me

i’ve loved you dearly, even when you were naughty
and i’ve loved you as you were happy, playing with the hose
i’ve loved you as you sun bathed
and as you’ve cuddled with me in the cold,
and i’ve loved you as you ate treats
and got excited for fresh meat,
i’ve loved you jealous of the new puppy
and i’ve loved you bright and smart and sneaky

and i love you now as you tell me you’re ready to go
and i’ll always, always love you, more than you’ll ever know.

it’s been a long time, old pal
does the pen grab your hands with fright?
i used to read your poems and songs
like they were lullabies and holidays,
soothing me to sleep and escaping the days,

have you forgotten how to put pen to paper?
how to make fingers type?
is this what it’s like for all the poets whose words weren’t borne of pain?
thinking too ******* what to write, what to say
if they’re not tears, they don’t flow naturally
these words are hard to create

you’re all out of practice
nothing to compose that feels genuine or profound
are you a liar to yourself? have you lost who you once were?
are you not ready to give up what’s already gone?

maybe you’re not a writer anymore
working 6 for 7 in a bar, big boss boy now
happy but frustrated, making money you have no time to spend
but it gets spent anyway
with no quality time to show for it
and you, lying there, awake

staring at a blank page hoping the words will write themselves

wondering if you’re a failure for moving onto something else

do you even want to write anymore?
or do you just miss the freedom?

my happiness looks like this:

three staffordshire bull terriers that keep stealing all the blankets on the bed,
and a fourth back at my mother’s home who cannot contain his excitement when i visit

grey winter morning light leaking in from behind the blinds—
i hate winter and i should be asleep,
but still my happiness includes this:

the hours i lie awake,
still insomnia ridden as i was when i used to write the nights away in sorrow,
but now

i watch videos of people who like the same pretty colours and the same pretty furniture as i do,
decorating their houses and building
useful things

i put a little more spare cash into my savings each week
and squirm impatiently for our first home together

ours. mine and his.

the main picture in my montage of happiness
is the man lying next to me, sound asleep
an arm cuddled around our oldest girl,
both of them snoring and snuffling in their slumber

sounds i loathed from other people
are sounds i cherish from him.
i kiss the tip of his nose,
each cheek,
the curve of his forehead,
the point of his chin
and settle one more on soft, lax lips

my words don’t feel so beautiful
because all life’s beauty, i find in him.
i don’t have poeticism to spare for writing
when all my love letters are spoken to him
and he embodies everything beautiful
from eyes to smile to skin
down to the soul within

my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
i am unfamiliar, and distinct, all curved and cracked edges
i am not straight.

my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
but i'll still find a way to sketch our similarities, a comparison;
shirts off and tracing the patterns of conventional beauty
like a dot-to-dot that doesn't align with the mass of me,
all my dips and swells:
a child that can't colour inside the lines

sometimes the ***** of my nose makes me wonder
how often i must lie to myself,
and my reflection repeats "i'm a real boy"
and we repeat, and repeat, and repeat until the mirror breaks.

i am real.
breathing.
alive.

fingertips pressed to my cheeks, and then
squeezing at the flesh of my hips
i push and stretch and pinch
this way and that
messing, fiddling, curious and carping;
but when i'm done, i don't ... do anything
other than walk away

despite the critical caricature of my image
this is not a confession of self hatred, but in fact
the opposite is true.

this is self-acceptance.
this is love.
this is learning.
this is healing.

i didn't notice when i stopped trying to please my eyes
i just know that i did
and once i focused on me, not my mirror
i was happier with what i saw anyway

see, my scars are more visible in my eyes than on my skin, but
if you look closely enough
you can see the trajectory from despair to kindness
wounds dressed with watercolours, and smiles
and a promise that i'd give myself a second chance

and life got one too

god is dead; his body's in the attic
i didn't do it, though everybody's at it
this isn't blasphemy, it's freedom from fanatics
all that dark sky, light leaks where we cracked it

don't pray, your palms cannot clasp the chasm of your heart
your redemption's only received if your sorrow's sketched in art
frame it, mail it, burn it; give your love a fresh start
you don't owe apologies to god, only who you've wronged

you didn't need to cry yourself to sleep
all your words could be ours to keep
what you can't admit, i know it's deep
but ignoring the wound will make it seep

there's no shame when mistakes are confessed
i'll forgive you once the crime's addressed
but keep lying to me? lies will be undressed
the world a ****** to the guilt you've repressed

the night slipped by in blurs that later i’ll only recall as
weakness, salted and sticking,
suffocating symphony
of strangers’ scorn and lack of sympathy
when my emotions took ahold of me,
and let me fall apart
exposed, like a nerve, raw and throbbing

why’d you come to a singles party with a soulmate?
ah, i didn’t think you could see
the ghost that lingers,
ghost of all the things he did to me
clings like lovers’ fingers gripping tight and bruising flesh
this time, i’m not moaning
there’re no marks on my skin, just

pain i can’t cherish and
i must confess
you felt like the devil but you looked
like a god, and how
i couldn’t comprehend the correlation
between the face of an angel wearing the sneer of beast,
as your serpent tongue did intoxicate me
with equal measures of lust and loathing
for both myself and you, our
relationship like my stubborn swallowing
of stomach turning tequila
just to prove something:
i can take the burn
put on a brave face so you can’t see how much i’m restraining

you are lying on your back in a bed 5,487 miles away from home.
there are geckos trilling from the corridors and the trees cast shadows in the room
above the door, the air con whirs and you shift, sticky, skin sweating against starched cotton sheets
too hot, too humid, too much

everything is too much, but at least it’s too much here instead of too much back there;
you visit temples, vast and golden in their glory, and white and intricate in their purity; ocher where the sun has kissed blessings upon their pillars,
and pretend that you too are subjected to the numinous nature of sanctums and their spirits
and pray they don’t notice that the awe in their eyes isn’t reflected in yours,
hope they don’t sense that you are not here to heal, only to stretch old wounds into splitting open anew

you are ruining your life

you are ruining your life somewhere beautiful that’s been the making of so many others’ lives
but you always strived to be different, never recognising
that agony, despair, self-deprecation, self-victimisation, suffering—they’re the most common connecting factors between all humans
you are the same as the other six billion people aching and crying and spitting anger in their sorrow,
blind to the one billion who’re trying to make the world a better place so the rest of you might smile a little more often.

one of the geckos scurries across the ceiling and you flinch,
a moment of fear for the unknown before you settle once more and simply watch his little legs fidget his body to freedom through the slats of your propped open window.
inside your chest there’s a moment of heavy silence as your heart grapples for a connection between you and that little creature
both small little things striving to survive in a world too large, too bright, too crowded yet too empty
chasing freedom like a child chases a dream.

the moment passes.
your heart regains pace and your mind whirs with the lonely static of too much me time

you are ruining your life
not realising you’re weaker to suffer than you’d be if you tried to heal

i’ve been letting the duloxetine
melt on my tongue
in the hopes of speeding up the process
of tricking my brain into quiet

like maybe the bitter taste
will let the thoughts evaporate

i want to write love poetry
about you; you make me feel
ethereal things
like safety and happiness,
and warmth that sparks smiles
in split seconds at random times
no care that others wonder
‘what’s on his mind?’

and i don’t care that i can’t have you,
that there can never be an us.
i’m so content with our current content,
the bits and pieces
that make us who we are
to each other; i am happy
just accepting whatever you give
and never asking for more

i promise you
the pills you swallowed
couldn’t possibly have tasted
as bitter as the resentment
she must’ve felt
knowing you put your life in her hands

you could not ruin yourself
as much as you’ve ruined her

i feel very alone in these moments
where i don't know who to talk to,
don't know who's ready for me
or if there's anyone at all who is

times like these make me feel as though
i can help but not be helped and
i shouldn't complain, i'm not lonely
but i'm just feeling so lo

i tell my friends it's just my meds,
the dose just isn't quite right
but what if it's not? what if it's me
and my fear of vulnerability?

please, i don't want you to go
like all the others who came before
listened to me talk, answer their questions
then turned their back on us

i guess the weight of my problems
is part of the cause; i'll never cut
down to the root, because the mass
just sinks it further

and i guess the weight is part of the cause
they choose to sink or swim,
and away they go, fleeing fast
as i tread the water, breathing shallow

i wish i could dream about you every night
i wish you weren’t constantly on my mind
i wish i could see you every day
i wish you’d give me more of your time

if wishes were horses, beggars would ride
god i wish you’d make me beg, i’d beg
so prettily for you. maybe ride, too
if that’s something you’d let me do

but all my wishes, these turbulent desires
just dreams that won’t come true
it’s only in my mind that you caress me
like you did that night, “down”

i went knees first, then tucked to my chest
head to the floor, your palm skimmed my spine
and i want to feel that a second time
i’d be so good, anything to have you take me down

i wish i could hear your voice say “mine”

sometimes i hear your laughter in my head and it sends shivers down my spine
it’s two am and i’ve lost count of all the ways to say “i love you” with the swell of panic throbbing in my throat, my chest
i love you and i’m not ready to try again
i love you and i’m not sure about the proximity, how much distance i need to keep so adoration doesn’t devolve into dispute
i love you and i can’t quite figure out the ways in which i do
i love you

it’s half past two
there’s a war trapped behind the bars that jail these flower spitting sponges i call lungs
and someone is dangling the key a touch too far out of reach, my heart a nervous flutter of don’t-break-in and
wow-your-head-feels-right-on-my-chest even if i can’t breathe properly
i have roses in my windpipe and my lips are stained rouge
you’re playing loves me, loves me not with the thorns clenched between my teeth

we swapped slurry sentences in a smoke garden haze and
i remember the exact path from your brow to your mouth, travelled by my wanderlusting eyes
the shape of it slotting sweetly against mine, nicotine and gin and the relief of feelings freed
so now, in sober sunlight, away from drunken darkness, i am afraid

your eyes hold storms of unspoken conclusions that you’ve yet to say
but my anxiety has already heard and i am afraid;
when i shift my centre of gravity to sit down to earth with you, lines of my body aligned with yours
the unyielding firmness of your limbs makes my head ache and i am afraid

i look at you and fret that all those feathery words, softly spoken and taboo
were just old thoughts, splintered fragments of a past affection reminisced into a fantasy by one too many and close proximity,
just retired comforts woken from sleep in the wake of recent heartbreak

all these aches i can’t explain
the emptiness that sits so heavy
weighted in my chest, sinking stomach:
the drop shudders through my spine,
rattles through my core, teeth
clenched like fists with a dull throb
that can’t be punched away

how to say it, how to speak
when words aren’t fond of being said
and a voice that whispers my thoughts
are worth neither sharing nor suppressing
not quite worthless, but not priceless.
i can’t tell you what i’m thinking

Death doesn’t catch my eye,
nor does she make my blood flow south
i no longer want to sleep with her, i just...
think. i think about her a lot.
still kinda pretty in a perilous sorta way,
kind that gives me wandering wonders
every time i’m wracked with anxiety
and images that make my bones shake

asked this blue thing 'bout how it feels to feel,
see, i can't grammar correctly
incoherent with emotional controversy, i believe
that my humanity is now a political catastrophe
******* it, stop policing me.
dare i live my life without an explanation, how?

rearrange the order for my indignant tones
just as you misinterpret every other word

an answer to every probing curiosity--a light word
for the darkness in your intentions.
speaking in tongues, how is it that this isn't over yet?
i'm getting ... inconsistent, irrational, yellow
like sparks flickering, a pinwheel of doubt

and red for the spin of insecurity, insincerity, breaking
the protocols for social interactions,
because you tell me i am not allowed to feel, i feel

scared.

the more years i clock,
the faster time slips by
‘til my mileage feels close
to ticking past my capability,

and the clock swallows my skin
biting wrinkles into my face
‘til i can’t remember my beginnings:
can only fear my end

just twenty years, but it’s already july
summer scorches sticky smiles
masking questions behind tired eyes
“what am i doing with my life?”

at 5 AM i loved you again

loved the seductive sapphires of your eyes
a certain snare for fools like me,

loved the shape of your hands and
the spaces between your fingers
where mine used to be

i loved the flick of a swirl in your hair
and the thickness of it under my nails,

the husky depth of your ***** laugh
and the wonky smile it accompanied,
a crooked glint of glee

your warm body and the wiry hair of your legs,
firm abdominals and stubble barely there,
just enough to scratch my lips

at 5 AM i loved you again
but at six, i woke up

sunlight shining clarity on daylight’s disappointing truths:
none of the above counts for **** all
when it comes to exes like you

used to sing along
sleepless, sad boy
flatsound’s sullen symphonies
“i’ll go to sleep at a decent time
when i find something
worth waking up for”

these days i like to close my eyes
just gone ten at night;
wake up with the sunlight
caressing my cheeks
just the way you used to

because even though
us became you and i
you’re still my something
worth waking up for

minutes shy of eleven,
       the sharp blur of too many streetlights
   aiding the throb of caffeine

we lay in the road under a starless sky
            and flirted with death
    for the sake of adrenaline

        cold, wind burning my lungs
              long route back, avoiding trouble
         but my smiles were real


                                               and so were you

you fell in love with someone alive
now all your words are soft and sweet
and full of dreary domesticity,
so daringly delicate, like you forgot
how to write death as a love letter

my empty heart can’t empathise

your love i love, but myself i despise
for feeling robbed of your sadness,
the way its stanzas stole my breath.
what a thing to miss your loneliness
for the fear of being lonely in mine

you created this
can’t you see? it’s you
the way you want to be.
a bright flare
of pure white light, stark
against the bloodied canvas
of your reality;
your hands
reaching out
emptily
towards salvation

stop it.
they aren’t going to save you.

who’s going to save you?

me

you’re going to save you

the razor edge
of living sharp and free
is when the roses lose their petals,
the thorns are all i can see

lately, the anxiety keeps settling in my teeth,
setting them on edge:
an unwelcome guest spitting scornful jest
to cause my brain to second guess
every thought i thought wasn't a mess,
exposing my mind -- a train wreck

i scruff my tongue against them
in the hopes of forcing the enamel clean
but this apprehension's made of harder stuff
that even molars couldn't crush;
the muscles of my jaw clench
their unhappiness, an endless throb
of raw numbness, itching to be expelled
through sound or sick or movement

excuses to flee, suddenly,
enunciated by the bitter desperation
to expel what words fail to express;
there's no sudden obligation,
no needs to address. i'm just trying
hard to outrun the foam of fruitless frets
fizzing into overflow, stomach acid upset

what a thing
to fall in love with life
anywhere
except the city of your birth

forty, for three kinds of pain
swell into sixty, they suggested;
the idea of dependency and
docile, smiley dazes
too much, like a bruised sprain
tiptoeing on the edge
of a complete break

i don’t need to be happy all the time
i just need to be happy more

not everything i say is
beautiful or profound

i think sometimes i feel
too much pressure
to be inspiring, or thought-provoking
to evoke emotion in others

there's a lot of  frustration to be found
in being unable to
find the words
that make hearts thump and tears ****

a poet's greatest curse:
blocking your own creativity
by trying to be creative

embarking upon a further
journey down the same path

almost four years,
but now: newer, exciting routes
new junctions to
cross the t’s, dot the i’s

but the letters remain
unfinished, unlooped—though
the knots are still tangled

why’d the past have to catch up
with someone else’s love?

spare the reminder
of a lovesick fool,
not quite so much lovesick
as desperate to prove.

tomorrow never comes;
the future is today
and it’s here and now and
yes, yes, things are gonna

change for the better
the best endeavour of life so far
begins without her in it

isn’t that proof enough?

we made it.

fingers curl into loose fists,
grasping softly at the frigid air in hopes of
feeling the temperature change.

january, i adore you.

a fresh start, a blank slate: one entire year
of endless possibility.
january, you are freezing;
but with you comes change.

i love you, i do. but please excuse
the way my hands hold out
to grasp at March’s warmer breaths

i, too, wish to breathe a new life
warm and
full of sunshine

is it that you desire
to stuff your tongue
down my throat, playing
“loves me, loves me not”
to the melody
of my choking, guttural
pleas of “no more”
no more lies, no more
deceit spun off the tip of your
***** tongue.

take your tastebuds back;
i’ll ******* own truths.
i don’t like this
tonsillitis, i can’t
soothe it
like kids do.
lactose intolerant, and
struggling to tolerate
the way your eyes shimmer
like you’re enjoying this

just two silhouettes walking
never intersect, done all their talking

parallel lines, this road’s been taken
the path is set with no equation
he did the math—no explanation
no words to describe this excavation

the broken bones, the muddied holes
tried to force the pieces, guess he’s got soul

tried so hard to wash them clean,
but the truth whispers behind the sheen.
pressure wash, sludge swirled the drain
from pressure: bruises, exposed the pain

rinse away the dirt, the cracks remain
prevents infection, still poisons the brain

got any guilt for me, or still just the same?
soap suds and lies can’t erase the shame.

what god created in seven days
a seven word summary:
it’s all a lot of needless ******.

but you’ll say these evils are necessary.

When the wounds whistled me
into weary sleep, I dreamt
I had a cozy little corner of the universe
all to myself. The tune of your lips
puckered against the sky; I watched
as you kissed supernovas into life.

See I bloom so easily, sometimes.
Just purples and blues, maybe green
and some yellow if the star bursts
just right. Often, I have to sleep off
the black holes that rip through me.
Fizzling, I shoot across and fall

Into blessed bliss of ignorance.
Asleep, I see you there. We got ourselves
a nice little place in the stars,
where knuckle dusters cease to exist—
so it’s just space dust, quite magical.
You could make billions
of anything out of this. Eternal. Ethereal.
People spend souls for escapism.

Could you refund mine, actually?
It’s kind of cold up here, now I’ve
stopped dreaming. I kind of
miss feeling the breath fill my lungs.
I sort of want to go home again.
You drifted from my orbit. I think
I miss you.

i’m not quite the boy
that i used to be:
i give up on people now

do you remember
the boy you used to see?
he’d never stop clinging,
white knuckled and
bruising

this is the new me
still fighting but
living, too; breathing
without asphyxiating
under the strain of holding on

it’s bitter but it’s sweet
no more dedicating time
to fixing other people mind’s
and forgetting about mine

these shoulders are yours
i’m listening to your words
and these eyes see you

i am still him
that soft and sleepless boy
but now a man, grown

i will love you
but i will love myself too

you were born on the cusp of spring,
a breath of warm sunlight
coaxing bright life back into
dark husks of wilted stems
and barren souls in need of bloom.

i died the day i came to life.
a beginning amidst the beginning
of the end. four days of stuttering heartbeats later,
i was hurried home under a heavy sky
of god’s tears and thick cloud

your eyes are sick with grief in winter;
i think your chest aches to heal
the fragile, frosted frills of flowers
that suffered and struggled
and surrendered to the cold

you are burdened by empathy
for the crumpled caskets lining the flowerbeds,
impatient for a fresh start
so you can refresh these corpses
into new life. new roots
and petals flourishing in the image of your beauty

you are a god i could worship.
you are a god i could believe in.
you are a creator of life, and colour, and new starts
you created happiness within me,
so i can only hope to do the same for you

i, dead the day i came to life,
belated winter baby with blue lips, blue veins
am alive for perhaps the first time in years
sleepy, but still awake—breathing, blooming
as if spring came early just to kiss the feeling back into my fingertips



a fistful of sunflowers clenched tight,
and with you by my side
my chest is set alight
with a sun’s ray of hopefulness
that the day will eradicate the night.

you will make it,
even if it's by the skin of
your teeth --
which will pearl
into a smile
that reaches your
endless eyes

sleep if you're exhausted
but you will rise;
energy cannot end, so
your soul
will be fine

arise, darling,
we're going to be fine

i just wanna sleep
but all my dreams are dead.
maybe i could find a way
to wake them up instead,
‘cause all i am is tired bones
longing for my bed;
every minute standing is
a blur of pain in my head

shut my lids, count to five
nightmares flicker behind my eyes
darkness creeps, i’m alive
and time keeps slipping by

i have
no qualms
with people who
love themselves

my pause after the
“i know”
that follows my compliment
is not distaste,

rather, i have spent
so long
hating myself that
i am used to self deprecation.

i have only just
come to grips
with learning to
love myself

self confidence in you
is beautiful
but also, for now,
startling

the security cameras
at the station
have it on record
that i
adore you

just holding him in my arms,
i feel the broken pieces of myself
making peace with being broken
and learning to hold themselves together

that first kiss, i felt myself implode
and new roots took place, rebuilding;
rosy lips bloomed flowers within me
turning my head towards the sun

his hands became the cornerstone
of all my new foundations,
fingers slotted together like framework;
destiny drew our blueprints, heart-dotted i's

swooping curls of cursive,
i'm cursing as my stomach swirls.
i'd break my wrists writing love letters
just to stare and sketch his smile's curve

living:

1.) the kindest thing i’ve ever done
for all the ones i love

2.) the best thing i’ve ever done
for myself

3.) the opportunity
to be alive and actually live;
to live and feel alive

paper thin skin
the artist’s eye is drawn
moth to a flame
but darling, paper burns

fragile, the softest ashes
they say “it always ends like this”
porcelain quivers
artist’s eyes, closed lids

flicker, just minutes more
please, just one last kiss
tears wet the cracks
and salt your drying lips

this loss, feel it endlessly
let me taste you one last time
something to savour,
to agonise the mind

comparing bodies
a (never) once (never) over
from across the room
sizing you up, i have
such a kink
for everything your body is

such a kink
for comparing you to me

such a kink
if kinks were self esteem

such a kink
for everything i can’t be

but **** do i feel good
when your body covers mine;
being blanketed
in hopeless aspiration,
it feels sublime
this perspiration,
when i can’t feel the weight of what i lack

only the bulk of what you’ve got

thinking about bus drivers, lying sleepless
3 AM
wondering about drug tests,
if they can’t go to work
because they drank to forget
and they don’t want to lose their job
for unhealthy coping mechanisms
because you can drive yourself into an early grave
but you can’t take the citizens with you

the weight of all my previous selves
is perching at my back
if i look slumped, not steady
i’ll be fine, it’s just temporary
maybe. hopefully.
i feel so heavy

is there a future me ahead
or will i finally settle?
when i know me, when i’ve found myself
will it be set in stone
bricks and mortar
whispering promises of home

or do i wash away again
like mud on concrete?
if the rain pours, i slip away
but then, but then
it’s okay! because then, then
the sun shines on a stronger me beneath

so i think myself finally whole because
i can hold the weight of the world
i am concrete.
i am washed away.
i am resurfaced clean, if bruised,
a pathway for all to find steady feet

‘til the cracks in the concrete reappear
‘cause i know, i know
i’ll let you walk over me,
that somebody will plant a seed in me
the roots will shove up and up
break through me
‘til shattered but still existing is all i can be

i am constantly remaking myself,
constantly being remade.
is anybody anybody
if we’re all endlessly changed?
this sense of self i have this day
i have no faith that it’ll stay

how many drill bits to the brain
does it take to make concrete fall away?
how many new faces
‘til a man, this man, that man, the man
‘til I go insane?

when he laughs, and that tug of lips,
the smile lines of his cheeks
they spark a flutter in my chest,

a butterfly blushes at his sunflowers

all those happy sounds
that brighten the garden within me;
i can have a summer in december

and honey soft eyes drink me deep
granting me ambrosia
for a long and peaceful sleep

in his arms i feel at ease

I am aware
of all things present,
the pinch behind my eyes
the pressure in my nose
my deep, soft,
too loud–heavy–quiet breathing
(How?)
Give me back my bones
Give me back my sleep,
my dreams.
Too close, too much, not enough:
I am endlessly ending

Cry

Please let me sleep–end–cry–
somethinganythingplease

as if he knew
the peculiar pictures
behind my eyelids,
sleepless in sleep, ******* bruises
so bittersweet
to dream of you still
i hate you so much
and not at all, all at once

never trust him again
and he... he still misses me
he trusted me—he TRUSTS me
he trusts my steady quiet and
my shaking hands and
this and that of me
i missed him, i think
maybe, distractedly
but not really

only in a lie
and a liar isn’t me but
he makes me speak them so
since my honesty would hurt him
earnest and afraid, my admission:
i do not want to touch
his emotions
and so to curb the awkward truth
i missed him
and none the wiser