Perhaps you fail to see
the beauty of broken things.

Beauty is the pen that has run out
of ink but is still kept in a
desk drawer.

It is the chipped teacup that
drinks comfortably,

the last ice in an empty glass
at 4 o'clock in the morning.

It is the comfort of a broken
clock, because it never tells you
where to be or what to do,

and the door that doesn't close
but reminds you to keep
your heart open.

It is the broken steps in the stair
that you choose to skip

and the tears in your eyes as
you stare into the broken
bathroom mirror because you
never seem to know your worth.

When I look at you, I don't see
a broken girl,

something that needs to be fixed.

When I look at you I see
beauty

in every scar and imperfection,
and I will gently kiss your smile,

wipe away your tears and tell you,

you're not broken;

you
are
perfect.

What then will man become
but the lengthening shadows
dancing along the edge of the sun
and when the day is done..
will it have been worthwhile
will those moments we took in the hook of the light
become more than the minutes that look into the night
or will we die
with your name on our lips?
Will you smother me in the pillows that slip through the fingers that want me to touch and you want me as much as I wanted you
Is this what the dancing of shadows will do
as they pass
do you dance with the light
did I do it all right
did it make you want to kiss me and hold me in your arms would you enfold me
would that I told you I loved you
but that's not what men do
and who is the loser
who chooses the wrong road
and the load that we bear
would not be heavy if only you were there
and where am I
where?

I thought you were watercolors,
And I could wash my mind of your scent.

I pace around, half here, half where I was,
Thinking only of you.
I am lost in the crevices of your neck,
Your pulse lapping gently at the surface,
And thumping through my lips.

It seems I remember your every curve,
And each shadow that lined you.
Your jawline had me in a daze,
And your eyes held the longest gaze.

“The ceiling is wonderful…”
You whispered in a throaty tone,
And I laughed, warning you to enjoy it.
You assured me it was amazing,
Oh how the ceiling must have intrigued you!

My lips brushed yours,
And then turned to seek the rest of you.
They glided on your skin,
And sometimes they lingered,
Long enough to pull you a little closer to me.

Your breathing was shaky,
Laughing at the **** ceiling.
You seemed so nervous.

I stopped to stare in your eyes,
And you challenge me, with a longing in your voice.
“I’m still functioning.”
And so I seek down your jaw again
And hold each kiss longer,
Holding your skin between my lips softly.

I thought you were water colors,
But look at you now.
Here in my mind, stuck like a song
And keeping me up at night.

Your arms held me close,
And I held your attention.
You ran your hands over my neck,
Just to see me shiver with you.

I remember it all, picture perfect.
Your touch, your laugh, your face,
That sound in your voice that asked for more,
But couldn’t possibly handle it.

I remember it all,
Picture perfect,
The bliss in your eyes.

And we both knew I was treading dangerous waters,
For soon you’d get your revenge.

I was always more easily affected.

But for this time, you were mine,
And I could do as I pleased.
So I kissed you, and kissed you,
And you loved the ceiling.
And I felt the shivers you contained,
And I felt the air shift.

I thought you were watercolors,
Easily washed away.
But in my mind you won’t cease to replay.

You told me you loved me,
And I whispered in your ear.
(Oh how I made a meal of it,
Moving slowly up,
Breathing warmly for you!)
I whispered, enigmatic as none other,
“I love you too.”
And ended it in a delightful sigh.

That ceiling, oh how you had words for it.
So interesting, so full of life,
So nice to stare at, head laid back.
Oh how you loved the words I spoke with my kisses.
Gentle little bites to keep you on edge,
And my teeth dragged just enough,
Oh just enough to keep you mine.

I thought you could be water colors…
But you just won’t leave me alone.
And as I pace the space around me,
I am anywhere but here;
I’m home.

I waited for you and
I still am waiting.
The difference from then
To now is that
I have hope
In us.

you see, when you first left,
it took such a long time to take out the shards
of glass, and fishing lines, and pieces of paper with
****** drawn hearts, and deflated balloons.
it took such a long time to find a needle and thread and sew all the
wounds.
it took days, months, years. and the stitches.
they were on my arms, legs, stomach, neck.
the scars did not heal until, until,
three years later.
you see, i put some scar cream. tried different
foundations.
placed different men’s hands and covered the scars with
bellowed ideas and bruises.


the scars have started bleeding, opened like
ripe tomatoes.
i do not have enough hands to cover them,
so i think i’ll sit here
until the bed soaks through.