If you can't spot infatuation
like black crescent shaped moons of dirt
packed up tight beneath finger nails
which wave and sway and point me in
all the wrong directions-
then we have a problem.

Barely propped up on my bed,
slightly hunched, typical 4 am candor-
“You're full of good songs”
you begging for sleep, me begging for company
sitting naked, adjacent, tossing cigarettes carelessly
out a second story window, between a softly lit lamp glow.

HA,
speaking of second stories- here's one for the books.
I can make out that shady sauntering silhoutte from miles away
in the blackest of places, abyss like spaces.
And can hear your muted whispery voice-
coughing up a lung from a song you've left unsung.

and while its far from symbitotic
and edging closer towards psychotic
there's a problem.
If I can't be responsible for myself,
for my stumbling and mumbling
and tracing goosebumps up your neckline
falling in love with the slight hint of a spine-

how can I be a mother and a lover
an obsessor, undressor, pining to
touch my tongue-
to taste the cut from some rusted razorblade
that made its way across skin untouchable-
must've tripped over that notch on your neck-

another night, another bar-
another random blonde girl craning her neck through foggy windows
past me, hungrily
searching for your eye contact
all the while i'm pressing the pen to my own fatal contract-
no more, not worth the time, not worth the effort for the pursuit of his comfort-
She looks like shes salavating, pathetic and starving-
If you have this effect on every girl that resembles me-
then I wish you'd leave me be, let me sleep, disappear from dreams

but how can I be trusted to disregard a feeling
that is settled so deeply in the pit of my stomach
one which swirls and twirls like sand
disturbed by some prodding finger
at the sight of you -

illuminated, engaged, aware of every ambivalent motion.
at your entrance, a beckon, an accidental glance
you happened to toss in my direction-

Everything you do seems arbitrary-
pity kisses, responses days late
with this ever forced fake mysterious aura-
come & go as you please,
feelings absent – words incoherent.

i clench my fists and crack my wrists.
the human experience isn't one best done alone
(not that you'll ever know)
having some eccentric faith in autonomy
and an innate interest in my anatomy
all the while believing its a form of blasphemy
to take some remote interest in whatever I can claim to be.

something about
the way you held me so loosely
like a hesitant father holds his abortion wished baby
arms dangling lifelessly around my inflating ribcage
{that little bright balloon i harbored so safely.}

yes,
i nestled it close to your unsheathed knife
waiting for the burst, an exclamation, a curse.

but that sound, it never rang out-
it bellyflop, backfired and hush hush hushed its way out of an entity.

something about you-
makes me want to-
litter i love you's like
lipstick stained cigarette butts
from the thrift store wardrobe to the over gesturing hands
you unraveled me like it was all a part of the plan.

i watch you through intermittent exhales and yearning eyes
nervously fumbling fingers through greasy hair.
placing my fingertip as gently as i can
on the single, strange spiral of ****** hair on your jaw
staring out at you across rippling sheets,
"this reminds me of starry night."
you nodded, said you knew-
but what could you possibly know about a masterpiece,
when you won't even bother to pick up your brush?

something about-
taking your contacts out,
our inability to communicate,
how you only come over after a few drinks
and never before sundown.
asking politely to kiss me, when your intentions blatantly
ask otherwise. and how thoughtlessly-
you walk through a room,
the vanishing unannounced cigarette act,
how quickly you use laughing to express, (or repress) yourself.

something about the anonymous demeanor of the stray hairs
you shed unintentionally in my bed.
feigning disgust, i flicked at them hard and carelessly when you were watching-
but when you're not. and it's late.
i pluck them slowly and sweetly and let them drift gracefully to the floor beneath.

forcing symbolism into everything
will very effortlessly destroy you.

snapping your wrist at an unsuspecting creature-
one merely curious of the minute details and intricacies of a human life.
perhaps drawn in by a whiff of cheap cologne
or the scent of a sweet summer drink.

it lives without common sense and floats through space,
weightless, only concerned by luxuries it can't comprehend.
and we smack at them,
flailing, angry, unaware.
we're overcome with a sense of annoyance and disgust,
simply because another living thing,
with a body much smaller, and ambitions absent.
decides to swim by off course
on whichever axis they assume.

i can only wish that one day a fly will swat at me,
remind me to keep my thoughts from wandering too far astray-
too keep my curiosity at bay.

i need something to bind me.

you wedge your pointer finger between your canines-
in an attempt to appear sublime- or nervous- or seductive
either way it doesn't succeed.

your tooth, teeth
speck of blood, bleed
emerging as you pierce your calloused
yellow patch of skin
(layers & layers of the girls you've touched before)
but you crave one more-
for in every sleepless night
there's a quote to be fill- a new slit to drill-
you're a man.

i can sense it-
throbbing and shaking beneath your olive exterior
how you long to drag
your now bloodied, prior prettied
finger up an off white thigh-
to disregard the things obliged-
to forge the paradigm
from faulty tools,
splintered and battered in a worn down knapsack
duct taped to a hunching back,
you're a man.

thoughts of droning monotone
quiet your hungry bones
(i can hear them)
rattling as you ****
your head and lift that heavy glance up to me.

i can see you,
flopping and thrusting and sweating, which
after years of curiosity has handed me
nothing,
but sweaty sheets and burning ***.
i lay beneath you, silent
i'm a woman.

avert your eyes ( i am tempted to plead)
from the onset of premature varicose veins
(i am pale, glasslike, arched & stained)
allow me to suffocate the already immune-
girls born into the world with ******* brandings
stamped onto their lightly acne ridden foreheads.
(SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE)
trim your ribs, shave off the cellulite-
turning a blind eye to accessible insight..
a salad for lunch, make it dinner too.
finger down your throat, orange acid hurling,
stick like dancers twirling,
they bring tears to your eyes,

if only {you} possessed the grace-
but there are pounds to erase.
i'm a woman.

thirteen years of advertisements stapled to your eyes
standing barefoot    in a bath tub   with chunks of blood
running down    shaking legs    
kicking off a now crimson pair of old underwear-
stuck  &  tangled on trembling feet

[ silence your voice and push up your *******
  til they're touching your neck.
  get a nose job
  get a *******
  you're a woman  ]

It was 2 a.m, as usual.
The doorbell rang and I knew right away
who would be slouched against the rusty gate
stuffed with cylindrical flyers full of food i'll never buy.
Hunched over in a hand me down coat
with that strange scarf I never liked tied around your throat.
You flashed a smile, a brief “hey” slipping through it's lack of authenticity.
and I mimicked you, as babies do, and stepped barefoot onto the
cigarette littered leaf scattered stoop, a bowl of knock off cereal cupped
in both my hands, my hair still wet, my mind still drunk.
I fumbled to the stairs and placed myself atop them
and you mimicked me, as babies do,
placing your fragile frame beside me, a few more inches away than usual.
Without hesitation you slid through your speech
and I nodded and smiled and continued to attempt to attract you
despite circumstance, despite that glowing ominous ornament
dangled high in sky, distracting my eyes and passing the time.
We agreed to demolish whatever was left standing from that wall we built,
of awkward breakfasts, yearning eyes across parties, anonymous hairs on jackets,
make out sessions on tattered couches, greetings with waves.
All the details deleted, left unfinished, perhaps one day to be returned to.
As unlikely as I figured it to be.

I rose to my feet, the wind whipping down 21st street,
my tar black makeup still loosely lining my eyes,
I gently rested my head on that shoulder I so briefly admired,
and admitted to my early infatuations; the poems I had written but would never share.
You protested, said you were curious of them.
I denied you, and you didn't ask again.

But if you would've- just once more.
I would've read you them.
Maybe even this one.

But you didn't,
and much like babies,
we mimicked each other
and crawled away.

rest easy, sauntering children that inhabit these streets, marching endlessly with youthful rouge upon your cheeks. the ambient orange glow encapsulates your city's sky, enrapturing your scattered minds each night.

you search with strained and bloodshot eyes for the silver lined heavens
that hibernate behind blankets piled high and heavy with pollution.

you stalk these streaky sidewalks,
hands in your pockets, cigarettes dangling between crooked teeth,
billowing from your gaping mouths,
forever treading onward, gazing upward
at the luminous orb who emerges each evening,
floating thoughtlessly in its spiraling yellow haze,
glancing down with an occasional giggle at your mindless meanderings.

you venture through man-made parks, but make not a single mark of any personalized passing.
invisible, soundless.
walking not in the sand or the honest salt of the earth,
but on glittering concrete,
disregarding your worth.

you wandering specters, dragging your aching cancer ridden bodies through tireless voids,
fending off your tattered emotions that clasp their bony hands around your fleeting ankles,
begging you to stop, to engage. your shoes remain bare and battered,
lacking more and more sympathy for your simplified selves with each step.

you push onward, noiselessly.
your brittle fingers wrap themselves
around the spines of wine glasses-
clinking, clashing.
you smile and kiss surrounding strangers,
your loneliness ever consuming those enlightened, empty minds.

There is no easy way out.
Finding solace in cigarettes,
malice in each intent.
When we kiss and flash,
I taste snow and ash-
slippery, salty blood lust.
4 a.m galaxies and gold speckled chains.
The thud in your lungs and the flood in my veins.

Adjusting my pace simply to make space
for the passing of strangers I'll quickly erase.
From my celestial mind and my unaligned spine.
While these battered boots pitter patter
atop the gum splattered streets,
Where I silently succumb to an alarming defeat.

You,
jumbling and juggling my thoughts-
they cling like sweaty icicles in the their last dying breath.

You, me, we.
Naked on a patch of empty mattress
Everything too symbolic to possibly process
Standing solitary in unison
beneath the draining translucent sink above
a degree too warm, my skin blushing on accident-
insides tangled and squirming
when that warm wet hand wrapped itself so delicately
around an unremembered segment of skin .
a stray fingertip racing up my thigh,
my throat clasping at the shudder
as i glance into those boring brown eyes

"I don't **** people I respect."

But this was a truth that was too soon broken,
I was disguised, misguided and easily cloaked when
the eyes I knew from a childish fluke
swept me
into a bed of nails that i thought
would protect me

you, me, we-
behind a rubber duck shower curtain
in the spotlight of the stage
where the x's had been taped
i was made certain a foolish damsel in distress
to each falsified caress.

but in those last fleeting moments
where the memory's page
starts to curl and break
you reached your arms out to me
and like damp sheets in the breeze of my body
we take our final plunge for all to see
and we lower to our knees
to scrub the smudges in between.