nights revolve in imaginary loops
I am captive inside my lips, inside fingertips
so that I see everything half and half
waves, tears, apples, words
half for me, half for not me, but the other you
I have to keep my hands for myself cause
you have sunshine tattooed on your skin
words are this space where I can breathe
when your hands get concentric

He is my muse
Rarely on time
Though always with the right line
He will never be mine
But these poems live forever
As part of me
Which is probably more
Than most lovers
Have in store
And ever will be

I painted your Myth onto
A cave wall

Until she atrophied

I scribbled our story
With a stick in White sand

And then the Tide.

So long gone,
I see in Dream
Your Face in
Moon Cold night

Your heat on soles

The Harvest of your Hips
With another.

words are drawn out of me
like sweat from a fevered mind
droplets staining the page
as they release inky diseased meaning
I must purge this sickness
give it some release
before it kills me from the inside

Swig and swim in dimming seethe,
plastic cup palomas, beers held
close to chest as voices lap
up steeply to black rafters.
Standing close, I feel you breathe
under my hands, and swell
with music, ribbon-wrapped
in clap and laugh.
These nights, they roll on in wild waves:
we're falling bed into bed,
our touch like breaking bread
before a feast where nothing's saved
for later - not a single bite...
Then day rises cold and wet and white.

I was buried
so deeply,
I fell out
the other
end