I've come to measure time and space by your absence
A series of days to distract me from our meeting place
Weeks to separate memory from smell, blue sage and pine
Of the familiar hum of my fingers, tracing your Anahata  
Gently, as to wake it from its stubborn slumber
Yet somehow the color of your presence, always remaining
A distant, tantalizing green blur upon my horizon
Orbiting slowly closer, always just out of reach

He swallowed my soul
Whole, sipped smoothly down
Gracefully, without need for chase
In one prolonged indigo gulp
Without a spill,
Without a single drop escaping
His thirsty, reptilian gaze
It was just a thrill, in the end
A specimen for is lens to collect
Another Lazarus to resurrect,
Another holy mountain to tame,
Another color to weave into his coat,
Then to toss over my shoulders
From behind,
In the window full of sunrise.

No force of nature, no divination of the corners
Nor the tea leaves, spread out loosely
Conveying chaos in their spiral form
Nor your heart line, dipping down deeply
Into the territory of water, selfish and wandering
Nor your telling Capricorn birth
Ruled by rigid grounding, your father the earth
Nor the eight of swords, repeated in every reading
Blindfolded and reaching forward
None of these can deter the velocity of my falling
Towards the pull of your body's gravity, refractory
Freed from any other want or need than the divination of your sheets
I'm puppet on a string, held low above your lust's steady flame
Leaning down low, dipping my toes into your karmic fire
Transported to a future drenched in the color of your gaze
Regardless of hexed hematite or rabbits foot
Lost sight of all pink candle and rosehip, all mundane and esoteric
My soul is yours, to save or spend sordidly
To toss into the shallow waters of the fountain of fate

Love is the last pull of your cigarette
All muscle and need and then,
Nothing
A slip of the wrist, empty space
Tossed to the road left behind you

I hope we feel something
My prayer
As it melted onto me

To write is to self harm
To create is to relearn
To love is to let go
But these hands fail me
And this heart speaks to me
Only in hushed tones

It's just a muscle, she says
Predicts from her bag of tricks
Paints a portrait of my soul in red
It's the last call for your crystal ball
Come remedy your destiny
In a year or two or three
On some rainy November morning
It will stretch back