The lights are brighter than usual tonight.
They demand attention with their glowing, yellow faces.
It only makes the cackling women in the corner of the cafe ignore them more.
There is an unspoken consensus that these lights are to be avoided.
I make the mistake of looking one of them in the eye,
only to be blinded with a flood of yellow.

O, what remnants our paths leave so silently on our bones.
We never can quite brush them away to gather in dust.
How I wish I could be the dirt under your fingernails.
How I wish I could be the stubborn lint upon your dress.
O, how I dream of never pausing.

How I wish to be the bitter taste of slumber on your tongue.
These thoughts are interrupted by the blinding light above.
Pull me from the water only to **** in a lung-full of air.
I want to drown in your eyes.

What a worthy way to go, I say,
what a worthy way to pause.

Envisioned - tight eyes
fixated on the delicacies of
perfumed skin,
vile in sinister auras
that cannot be smothered.

You will blame your victims
and put your theives on
Pedestals made of
Diamond-shaped tears.

Cover your mouths,
your thick, bitten lips
Red and raw.
See yourself reflected
in the whites of her eyes,
Blue lips snarling,
tasting sweet misery.

Strip innocence from
Flesh and Bone,
you filthy Pig!

I watch for you
And keep an eye on
The horizon
I cannot help but
See the sunrise
And it's orange edge light
Hugs my curves like
You would
Warms and burns like
You would
Smoldering then steadying like a match
Igniting memories of
Sleepy passenger seats
In an old black jeep that
Tasted of fish and old stories that
You told me
Of the late night in between in
A skinny dorm bed and the
Delirium of love and fatigue
Folding our eyes closed and our hands together beneath the pillows
And collecting on us like a heavy snow
The scent of old tobacco, skin, gatorade,
And dryer sheet that
Rests on you like
My sleepy hand
Rising and falling with your breathing
And then my florida dawn
After new world night and
A heart full to bursting
Watching big fish gather around lighted docks
And talking of things in
Beach towels on a bridge
Leaning
Looking over
The edge
I watch for you
With my eye on the horizon
And I know you in the
Break of day
I carry your gold dawn and it
Tempers the steel beneath
I watch for you
My love
Until you're home

It's 7:14 am
And I love you

Atop the rocks
that tower over this city,
a score of girls have stood with me.
The difference between you and them,
is that while they
begged,
“Look at me.”
You plead,
“Look at the stars.”
It’s amazing
how much brighter the night sky is
when someone isn’t standing in front of it.

is that what poetry has become?
your eyes are like clouds
her heart hurts
roses and thorns-
stop punishing me with your incompetence,
with your ignorance,
feel something and give it to me
in more than one language.
if i don't feel every syllable
coursing through my body
in all the wrong ways
(you're a thunder storm, baby,
you're a forest fire under a full moon)
then it isn't worth my spit.
give me something filthy.
have a couple drinks and tell me how
raw you feel then.
peel back each layer
of your broken soul
and show me what you got.
it's not about love,
it's not about lust,
it's about how deep you can dig
when you know you're about to hit rock bottom.
give me something filthy
and write your name all over it.
write my name, too.

So, here's this:

Every third breath is made by a boa constrictor.
He lives in my ribcage, you see,
and sometimes like to see what his musculature can do compared to mine.

If every night star story started with a clear light,
what would happen to cloud cover?
What would happen to all the silver linings?

I felt what you meant when you said sometimes you yearn more for a body to hold,
someone whose arms say more than their breath,
than their breadth.
Boa knew it all along,
but I've just been letting him grow and gripe.

I knew it all along, that it would feel better then worse,
as he grew he'd need more space,
he'd demand more space and take up more space.
Except I always thought space was just a place for stars,
and if you needed to moonbounce,
you always had another planet available.
Except you didn't, and I didn't know if I wanted one, or a different you.
I want bits and pieces, I want to build my own puzzle with preference,
500 pieces that are hand picked by yours truly.

A puzzle is still a puzzle if all the pieces mostly fit, right?
Even in designated cutouts, with enough use they fade,
and become questionable in their habits.
"Are you sure this goes here? These reds are not the same"
"Sure hon, it's been like that for years, it's supposed to be like that".
When do you seek your better fitting other half, though?

Boa can twine, at least. Better to be fluid and versatile, than stock and habit.

Hundreds of pieces 
Line gallery walls
I put them together in
Fractal patterns
They make pictures under my
Lizard brain lens, refracted in
Shards of color
That contour honeyed visions
I remember, no I
Won't forget
Golden glows of firelight in
Family rooms on soft lined sofas
Or sideline kisses by
Charcoal cooked nighttime 
And trampolines that
Soften our fall
Into autumn
Well I was certain that I
Couldn't jump
(Though I asked how high)
But with your arms beneath her
Your baby girl can be your
Little bird.