Things are things and
Verbs are verbs
When you hear chirps
It’s probably birds

Feet go in shoes
And shoes on the floor
Music echoes in ears
Leaving you wanting some more

A heart is a heart
Until it’s beats aren’t for you
Love isn't love
Until you share it with two

Then comes the end
As all good things must
Settle on the shelf
And gather life’s dust

"Too late" is a lie
So get back on your way
Start life over
If you can, start it today

Flowers bloomed where you traced your fingers.
They grew as if fed by your caress.

And slowly, I became a garden.

My bleeding red Dicentras fluttered, as your hands lingered.
Tuberose & orchids twisted together, covering my dress.

Your words sprung up fresh new buds.

But Lavender began to spring up from the words you planted.
And from my eyes began to sprout begonias, purple and dark.*

I realized that you were not willing to accept that I couldn't grow orange blossoms.

You & I knew my soil wasn’t able to be enchanted.
So I clipped all of my flowers, and shot the lovely larks.

You said I wasn't worth tending. Was I not?

*You kicked the dirt and ripped up the last of the lilacs

Understanding means little with no voice to relate
and no action to cater to the thought
To sit beside you in silence is sheer meaningless
A proximinal neglect that is in desperate need of reflection
The universe is tearing us apart as we wonder aimlessly with no intention
This silence is pure sadness because it represents the death of our last ambition
These times have a way of putting out flames but only in the case in which you allow it to happen

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

I sat down in the shower
It was only a moment, but it felt like an hour
The rain poured down my back
My body was consumed by a panic attack
The water mixed in with the tears that I wept
Overwhelming me from all of the secrets I kept
My sobs a cacophony with the pitter patter of drops
Little black ink stains from my eyes turned to spots
Splattering onto my ankles and my pale clenching hands
I slowly drained away, no longer solid, just sand
A fragile little thing in that shower, I was
Stripped away and torn up, never really
                      
                l
               ­           o
                                    v
          ­                                     e
                                                          *d

Sitting, dying, waiting
Casually ticking my eyes back and forth
At doctors and nurses rushing
Trying to save one more life
Just trying to make it to the end of their shift
When I saw you walk out the elevator
The look on your face told me you could use a lift
Of spirit, of body and mind
And that's when you took out that pack of Parliaments

"You can use a cigarette,"
You said through gritted teeth
I looked, smiled, obliged the notion
"How'd you know?"
As I pulled one from the pack
"This is a hospital, man, everyone here can use a smoke.""
As more doctors and nurses speedily scurried along
Scattering jitters
Bouncing them off the walls
Throughout the white washed waiting area

We looked at each other, smiled
Popped the cigarettes in our mouths
Lit up
And no one said a word
As the smoke drifted, floated and danced
Above the sick and dying