i've never felt so weak in the knees over someone who couldn't stay
i asked myself
what was stopping you from anchoring yourself to me
the moldering wood who could never keep us afloat
the winds, so spirited and sudden,
would tear us in two.
but it would be a privileged to see is my last breath in you.

i am as constant as an open door,
twice broken down,
no lock to shelter the life i've raised

i am a harbour of selfish psyches,
who write lyrics on my walls
and sleep in tiled stalls,
drunk,
on the promise of an eternal home.

i am a church of unbelievers,
idly bowing their heads
to no statue in particular,
the low hum of an absent mind,
dried up of answers.

*i leave them blind.

i've seen the wings of coughing angels,
bent, snapped off between fingers,
like wishbones.
i've blanketed them with burlap rags
of red and blue, so neatly stitched,
only to discover they were
bewitched
by men on ships.
and with death on his lips,
he laughed
at their ****** backs and spotted foreheads.
and he never bothered
to cover his tracks,
when sneaking into their beds.

I didn't care to lose it,
it was a paperweight to me.
And i was lifted into different corners of possibilities as i was freed,
I was no longer caged in the idea
that I was young or naive,
that no one could know me.

And still no one knows me,
for I'm not just my body.
My soul;
it's own entity.

And though I curve towards you,
I know your warmth,
and I shiver
under your chest,
You are no different
than the rest.

How could we look the other way?
As each petal,
from the top of your head,
wrinkled and brown,
feathered to the floor.
Your stem legs,
kissing the sun,
like it was lost behind the sea for years.
We were pioneers
of our bodies,
and I saw it before you;
the willingness to fall,
when it turned to dusk.
And in the winter of our lives, so unforgiving,
like a knife, twisted slow,
you slept under the snow.