Rusted trailers file in,
carrying pop-up roller coasters
and tilt-a-whirls. A tall man, face splashed
with paint, trips in oversized shoes.
His drawn lips smile, but teeth do not show.
A ferris wheel spins in the distance, time
measured in each rotation, the carnival's only clock.
Perched on a saddle, a small tot
rides a stallion, tangling her curled fingers
in its mane, cotton candy stained palms
shaking the reins. The steed chained
to a central post, muzzled in silence,
frozen like his carousel brothers.

your arteries are wired to
sound an alarm if thieves
come to rob you of your heart
but I swiftly stole the wrinkles
on your brain so maybe you’d forget
the mole below my left eye, the
faded birthmark embedded in my left shoulder

if that makes me a criminal dress
me in tangerine, let me play
tug of war with a noose

I took a polygraph test last night, the examiner
asked if I still loved you
I whispered no but the needle painted
the cadence of your voice instead

My brittle skeleton has become an abandoned motel
and you
were its last visitor.

Why didn't you enjoy your stay?

I made a trail of light kisses across your forehead
like spreading mints on your pillow in the morning.
I peeled back the curtains
to let rays of light color your cheekbones
and swept your troubles underneath the wooden sofa legs.  

A motel's only guests
are faint silhouettes of those passing through.
How did I believe you could be permanent?

I have cleaned every inch
of this haunted cottage,
but when I dust the mantel of my shoulder blades,
I only find your smudged fingerprints.

I cannot scrub you from my skin.
It flakes,
it scars,
but you are still embedded there.

How did I mistake touching for feeling?

A closed sign now dangles around my neck
This vacancy can never be filled.

these bones have outgrown these thin sheets of skin.
every stretch causes a mark, a blemish.
they fear for the day they will rip,
tear their outer shell,
leaving them
vulnerable,
open,
exposed.

some things are meant to be hidden away.

You are a stallion,
The wind running through your knotted mane,
Free and wild.

For years he has tried to tame you,
Mold you like clay into something he can understand,
Something he can control.
(You belong wholly to yourself.)

The stable is crumbling,
The fence is decaying,
The trough is empty.
(This place has nothing for you.)

Use your hooves to gallop away, my dear.
Do not ever come back,
For this is not your home.
It never was.

my father was an electrician
but he never taught me how to remedy
strong jolts of electricity
that leave your limbs quaking,
your lips shaking,
your soul aching.

they say a bolt of lightning
can measure up to three million volts,
but, then again,
your touch holds more power than any storm.

Goosebumps cover my
skin as I shiver from the
chilled touch of your soul.