burrowed in lies and tears
i've decided i still need you.
wine drunk on a monday
i beat the record for
most blinded in love.
you, with your laughs and honey
tinted eyes and pink pink lips
and your absolute destruction of my heart.

i don't even want the remains, please
bury them beneath the overground station
or scatter them in the river Thames.
or keep them, broken and all,
within the depths of your sock drawer.

expectations of epiphanies brought
a sword through my stomach,
replaced butterflies with blood;
and yet, somehow (without a heart)
i still love you.

maybe one day i'll understand
why things have to be this way
but for now my drunken mondays
will continue to leak the poison from
my eyes in an endless desire
to be yours.

my lower extremities
are coated lightly with
minute shards of glass,
my upper body loose from
chardonnay and sun beams

the water between is only angry because distance is disdain is
disbelief; a family finds solace
in the crashes of sad summer skies
and squinty eyes

i am not happy i am not sad
i am only breathing in the ocean’s
cries for calm, for quiet,
for familiar drunken fights
for love

my sunburn buried deep
solemn claims of reality;
direction is only a force
the stars have put in motion
moons pull me in opposites
but i remain

warmth in cotton
bedsheets, comfort
in rough hands
the rain fell hard
and so did i
on those cold december nights
filled with electric humming
of something
or everything
content in
knowing
my heart is yours

there are treasures in your laugh, there are daisies in your soul, there are angels in your eyes, there are oceans in your heart,
there is me, in your memories,
there is you, in my dreams

i can't wait to come home to you

melting minutes
into memories,
in to mayday parades of
everything i should have done,
everything i couldn't,
everyone who said i had to.
the days are starting
to feel like distant places
where my past self lives;
it is a miracle that i made
it here, it is a miracle
that i'm leaving,
it is a miracle
that my muscle memory
hasn't made me ruin it.
i've been thinking about
those first days,
the majestic trauma of
eighteen now the
monstrosity of twenty-two.
ahead of me lies a path of
i don't even know what
but i made it here,
i can make it anywhere.

he used to stroke my hair. we would be lying there veiled from the world and he would stroke my hair. softly and intimately.
looking back, what he was really doing was slowly scratching away something from me. my heart? my dignity? my hope?
innocence was leaking from my pores. naivety gushing from my eyes. releasing a pheromone that only predators can smell.  
he was so soft. so warm. a short one sided love affair with a man with poison on his lips. they tasted like home.

And so I turned my poems
Into a hot air balloon
And held on until the clouds
Were suffocating,
Until like ants you disappeared
Into the earth.
The oxygen eventually depleted
And while choking for air
I grasped still to these words,
These fleeting moments of
Clarity,
Until darkness consumed me
At last

and my fingers bled the moment you left--
I sliced them on a broken mirror
when throwing out the trash;
the cuts were
deep, the blood flowed heavy;
my first instinct was to **** the
wound and it helped briefly,
for a moment,
before the sting of glass surged

we went to that place, that
vulnerable oasis, where
lovers are nursed  
and destroyed;
that march evening
coolness mesmerized by
the silence, by the pure plant,
by the bass in that song
echoed between my thighs

the poems are conceived
in my mouth, on my tongue,
my taste buds
prance around your skin
like honeybees,
your eyes seek perennial
poignancy
and dumfounded i open
myself like a rose