The morning glories
bloomed from one side
of my chest to the other
in an archway.
He ****** the
succinct little flowers
into my wrists,
which only showed themselves
in the morning,
because by noon
their eyes were closed,
and by evening it
wasn’t love anymore.

You are standing
on a great, grassy
field as far as your eyes
can see. The ground
is firm, there is a peaceful
wind in the air
gently rustling your hair.
This is not what you expected.
You had anticipated
explosions, yelling,
a thud on the wall
that sounds like someone's
skull is being hit by
the house phone!
But no,
the field is
the serene place,
the confinement
that is childhood.
It is an illusion.
It never existed.

The hole in my
roof gives me
the perfect view
of the stars,
let's me connect
all the dots.
My life is a
group of
constellations,
but the ladder
of silence
descends
too far
from the
atmosphere.

I don't know
how to put it all into words
and still keep myself intact.

The hands in my chest reach out to catch a star,
but instead they grab a bird, which escapes,
leaving everything behind
but its feathers.

There is the lake,
its undulating softness
reaching out soothingly,
and it's jarring
how much it
feels like you.

I want to love you
but I can barely
stay afloat.