1
I remember her body against me

She tells me she doesn't want to get hurt
That I will break her heart

You can break me like a wishbone
and keep the better half

Sharpen it like a prison shiv
and stab me with it if I do

2
She is the snow
I am a stove in a single room cabin

I have been cutting off parts of this home
and feeding them into my belly

There is sawdust
on the floor of my love

3
Most of this house is gone now
I am still a stove
she is still snow

We both think
this heat is a good idea

I keep burning

Call her iglu
Call her daring
Call me almost homeless

4
I have left the stove

I am a candle now

Slow burning

Call me always hot still

Call her always melting

The floor is always wet

5
I tried to trap the ocean
in a dresser drawer

But we were flooded roofless

I learned to hold my breath

She learned that warmth doesn't really change anything

There was the sun
and it heated her body

I bathed in the ocean
she made
a thin
near burnt candle

I sank down

Her heart was made of winning halves of wishbones
Sharpened like shivs

I did not go near them

I am not afraid of getting hurt
But I have always been taught
to respect the sea

A blend of threads
Complex
Yet dead
Intertwining
Mingling
A braid on her head

She's young
Yet old
In mind
She's bold
Young girl
I could've told
Her
"Don't lose
that fierce sense
of self."

But she's gone
Moved on
Dismissive
She's become
It's like
Her identity
Was sold.

No more
Will she know
Who she is
She's only told
Things that don't make sense in her head.

She's lost.

Swift things are beautiful:
The fleeting glance of your crush,
The heartbeat that hauls,
And the cheeks that red flush.
In the blink of an eye,
Stomach filled with butterflies,
The high waves that you ride.

And slow things are beautiful:**
The small pause between you two,
Time seems to stop the world
Except for the both of you.
The feelings you harbor
The heartbeat and butterflies,
Cheeks red with color.
You wait for it to subside.

I've done this before
the      d       i         s            t           a          n          c               e

game.

Must be something
special cause I swore
I'd never futs with
that again.

But here I am
marking days off my
calender     X     X     X
X     X      X

Drives a part of me mad
thinking about that bunk
bed soaked in my perfume
how you ******* her, midst
my hairbands

“You look like my son,” he says.
But he does not look at my face
He looks over my head and out the window

It is the look of a man that while drunk
He has kicked his dog in the ribs
Because he can

But now he is sober
And can’t really look at it anymore

I understand that look
And run my own fingers along my side

I wonder
If he still has the rain in is breath
And as if to answer my question
His chin quivers
He fixes his glasses

“How old is your son now?” I ask

“We’re both old men now, ” he says

I give him his change
52 cents
And two plastic bags

“Happy Birth-
“Merry Christmas I mean.”
Merry Christmas I say