logic is
the screen
through which
we hear music
with and
without reason
it just makes sense

only the holiest
of men
may enter my
church made of flesh
my backbone
erected like
a steeple
announcing itself
the way your fingertips do
between my thighs and
your touch up my spine
it feels like
the sound, the crinkle
of a fresh cellophane wrapper
leaving my mouth dry
yet wanting more
and the rest of me
forever wet, raw, and exposed

you told me
your strategy was
to divide and conquer
with a violent smirk

but i did not
let you defeat me
in this war

i watched you
lose control
with your furrowed brow
and your eyes
looking like hallways
leading to
my crawlspaces
you cannot
reach
my
foundation

you let my hair
sift through your fingers
like sand
creating electric shock
and white noise
but it had nothing
on us

when you watched me
i could hear
your heart
beating like
a ******* metronome
and your breaths
they sounded like matches
striking on brick

my blood does not
negotiate or
beg or
plead
it boils like
a raging
unwatched
***

your neck smelled
like the heavily loved
pages of my favorite,
oldest books
saturated in
my tears and
my sweat
so many times

and you loved it
because every inch
of me felt like
a lock
made just for you

and i loved it
because every inch
of you felt like
the key
that could finally
open me up

I have tried to find you
On a map
In every direction the arrow could point
I looked north for you
I thought I found a sign, or a miracle
I did; a stop sign

I learned nothing in the irony of our class
I made a home for you
But it grew cold
And the rest of me followed

That was when I realized
The arrows I used to find you had feathers
They were curved so, I missed you

I could never leave a wound like the one you left
The one oceans apart in distance

We would drive in your car with no destination
You couldn't fit a ruler between us
Perhaps that was your motivation
Or why it felt so smooth
When your face went gray and old
And your teeth started to rust

How much dependability can you keep in a king?
Whose throne is made of plastic
Who feeds his kingdom pain
Who cannot see in color
He does not know when it is bright
His face does not illuminate
But mine does, and hers does too

My lips have lost the salt from your skin
But I lived, I lived
My eyes lost your seafoam green face
But I lived, I lived
My knees are no longer white
From begging, from praying

How wise I was to wait out your smile
It went from an inferno, to a night light, to a firefly
It left as a fleeing ember in the October air

Your eyes grew round
Like my belly, filled with the moon
And in them I could see a mouse hole
In you came, out you went

The depressing arch of your shoulders
They fell as if you carried the world upon them
What a fable they told
A lesson was to be learned

Your skin was made of clay
Free to change form
You always needed a mould though

I twisted a doorknob
It never lead to Wonderland
Everything felt impassable, everything felt impossible
With the walls you built around me
Yet you engraved my name on them
And said, "Look at what you've done."
Perhaps you are in Italy, New Mexico, or Spain

You always were
Below me and too far gone to reach

I let you spend
One thousand nights in my bed
One thousand days in my head
But I have thousands more to give
And not a single one is for you

I would rather be stuck
Between a rock and a hard place
Than the rim of a volcano
And the edge of your cliff

Your hot breath foretold a story
On my neck, it jump started my bones
But now, it burns
And suffocates me relentlessly

I've filled myself with your hatred
And stored you beneath my fingernails
In anger, and in love
Either way, I consider them *****

I have shared with you
My darkest shadows
My brightest eyes
And you reaffirmed my beliefs
That neither have a meaning
If your foot isn't pressing down on them
Like an informal baptism

It is clear what this is
It is the domestication
Of a wolf, to a dog
From a dog

The old pope sits upon his leather throne
A sphinx by his side, he is not alone
The old pope has three children and a wife
They lived in his house, he lives in his home

His oldest daughter has his same green eyes
Interrupted with saline, she often cries
Her eroding cliffs have fallen to the sea
The louder his voice gets, a piece of her dies

His only son has his same rage
Fooled to live an old life at such a young age
He hates the old pope, he sees through his flaws
But the old pope always takes center stage

His youngest daughter shares his same control
A higher priestess, he drums on her soul
She is trapped in his cage, it is made of glass
Risking her life if she wants to throw stones

His beautiful wife shares her sympathy
She drowns out his snores, she drowns out his bigotry
Her voice like a mouse
His voice like a timpani

The old pope sits upon his leather throne
A sphinx by his side, he is not alone
The old pope has three children and a wife
They lived in his house, he lives in his home

The old pope will become sad at an old age
You can burn down your houses, you can burn all your sage
But his voice emanates from all of the walls

*To him we are chapters, and he, title page