My forte has never been          chemistry
especially              in matters of the brain
that delicate science                 eludes me
but give me a knife            and I’m a pro
a      butcher      in      a     cesspool       of
a        drowning         stagnant            me
where   the   water   under   my   bridge
does               not             flow              out
but backs up tighter than
                                a meat packer’s drain
overflowing with            ****** blobs of
broken   promises  and good  intentions

I remember the taste of your chapstick
original flavor plain as you were, a taste insipidly vapid
I remember everything up until our last kiss
that fades into the smoke of memories I burned with your box of letters
cut with the strings of you that had me tethered
disappointment doesn't hold a flame to the fire burning inside me now
I'd wail and cry aloud
but the ocean cares not of the downfall of man
knees dug into the sand
arms outstretched, a shameless attempt at holding the sky
as close as you once held my
body more rigid than it's fragile contents
I remember the taste of your chapstick and I never knew what that meant...

Laughing,
Slow dancing
In bedrooms*

Problems drain away
Like kettle- water down the sink
From our last cups of tea

The smell on your neck
Our jokes and gestures
Like rituals

Teases of where, one day
We might end up.

We could be, on the sea
With the breeze buffeting our faces,
Making violent sails on blue-grey skies

There, you'd stand -
A silhouette on the deck
[Salt-wood & peeling paint]
- Absent minded.
Not understanding
How much
These moments

mean

to me.

Out on the sea
There's nothing but us
Laughing,
Slow dancing

Numb nostrils,
jittery tongues,
swarming the cutting board.
Sharks, whose blood lust
shot off the charts
with the sight of one little baggie,
gnash their teeth
"Pour it out! Line it up!"
"Here's yours!"
"I can't feel my teeth!"
all caught on the reef
thrashing for another dose.
Who am I to judge with this
white gold
in my nose.

And I want so badly
to do more, more, more
jaw clenching madly--
"don't stare at the floor!"

"Find more sensation,
feel it deep, deep, deep"
"use imagination"--
the corrections I must keep

"Try to look happy!"
my eyes are dull, dull, dull
"Remember, ballet's sappy."--
"dancer, think of the skull!"

All of this in my core,
I do gladly, gladly, gladly
And I want so badly
to do more, more, more.

I wish that you would lift my chin
with the tender underbelly of your middle knuckle
of your pointer finger
and that you would trace the line
of my strawberry lips
with the fingerprint of your thumb
softly memorizing the asymmetry
of a face not fit to model but somehow
fit to be deserving of your touch

I wish that you would brush my cheek
with the tips of your eyelashes
as they flutter to sleep next to me
your breath soft and steady
like a gentle wave expanding and receding
on the pale shore of my bare neck
whispering life into a cold shoulder
that softens at the cool warmth
of an unapologetic slumber.