“It’s alright,”
Shatter me.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“I saw you
On the starting line.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“You watched me
Burn below the lights.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“I think I may have died
Last night.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“I’m taking all my
Clothes off now.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“Mind if I light a
Smoke for now?”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“I’m exactly what
You’ve heard about.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“Go on,” she says,
“Shatter me.”
All mine for the
Taking.

I will love you everyday,
hard as I very well
can.

I will give you my love each morning,
(compounded on the minute),
and I will make sure you’re
well asleep
before I begin again.

I will love you for years at a time
without asking a reprieve
even if I grow tired. Because,
there is no honor
but the honor
of loving you everyday.

and if one day I should notice,
my heart running low,
I will gather up my heartstrings
and wring them out
until we have enough
or they run
dry.

if that should ever happen,
I will take myself to visit each place
I have ever told anyone
I loved them.

I will be unabashed in crawling
on my hands and knees,
gathering up any scrap of love
that fell lost between my mouth
and their ears.

I will weave a very fine net
of lace, you see,
and secrets,
to attract the scraps of love
and catch them from the air
of all those lovely places.

and should all the love I gather
still not satisfy my need to love you,
I know what it is
I will do next.

I am not proud to say this,
nor will I be proud to do it,
but if it should come down to it,
I will put on a nice gray blouse
and ask my big brother
to meet me.

I will explain the problem,
and he will understand.
he will smile sadly,
a smile not reaching his eyes,
(stopping just before the part
where his dimples ought to start),
and he
will want
to help.

he will reach into his bones,
where he keeps his given love,
and pull out a wisp—
then a wisp—
a cloud—
of love I have given him.

it will not even be a fraction,
but as I fold and press it neatly to my chest,
we will both notice its absence.
but, it will be
Okay.

and I will come home to you,
bursting with my salvaged love,
and go on to love you everyday
with that.

and should all of that be gone through,
should I still love you everyday,
it will so happen I need only tug my
heartstrings
a bit harder,
to make that bit more love.

and I will return my love
to all the places I recalled it from
(with interest)
and no one will have minded
because they will be in
lovely awe
at how much I will love you
everyday.

(at any cost).

January tore me to bits;
February’s always tough.
March began to stitch me--
April crushed me into dust.
May swept me up again;
June found me on my feet.
July slipped away too fast--
August gave me dreams.
September went and broke my heart;
October left me shaky.
November had me on my knees--
December made me crazy.

max
maxmax
maxmaxmax
maxmaxmaxmax
maxmaxmaxmaxmax
maxmaxmaxmaxmax
max
max
max
max
max

if you write it enough
it stops looking like a word
and starts looking like
it could love you.
at least until
it didn’t.

“why do you think I am
pretty,
         max?”
max is tired—
he’s falling
        asleep.
I am racing—
I’m falling
        apart.

“max?
why do you think I am
        pretty?”
max’s fingers
find the waves in my
        hair.
my fingers
find the waves in the
        linen.

“why do you think I’m—”
pause.
        “pretty?”
max’s feet
fall against
        mine.
my feet
are falling off the
        earth.

“max?”
nothing more
        follows.
I don’t need to
repeat the
        question.
because max
yawns out the words-- “I
        don’t.”