while it may be true
that the way to a man’s
heart is through his stomach,
i chose to crack open my
ribcage for you

and your longing was just
as hungry as mine,
two beasts that devour
in the same way

what a feast
my heart would make for you,
my love

all you have to do is ask
and i will fill this table to creaking
with all the foods you enjoy,
and drink to chase back the light

and maybe i’ll leave in the morning,
or you’ll beat me to that particular punchline,
but when we were
when we are
together

i forget the rest

i say to god that he
is just another absent father
and he tells me to
eat my vegetables

i want to ask where he was,
my father?
a god that i
still don’t know if i fully
believe in?

but because i am
a good son,
i will set the table,
carefully lay out the silverware

ladle hot soup into clean
bowls and bite the inside
of my cheek until it bleeds
when my father says that
i purposely gave him less meat

and i want to ask him,
is this all i am to you?
another mouth to feed,
somebody to blame for your
mistakes and the alcohol on your
breath as you scream at me?

where have you gone,
father of mine,
this mythical man that
walks among the clouds,
and what should i pray for?

a father that loves me,
that wants to parent me,
when does this begging to be
seen as his son,
as anything,
taper off into anger?

because i am down on
my knees here,
but still there is no answer,
and i don’t expect there to be

the sea chases a sailor
from one port to the next,
licking at the well-worn tread
of his cracked leather boots,
soaks the cuffs of tattered breaches,
pulls at thread-bare long-coat sleeves

maybe the ocean reminds him of you,
and how even the deepest bottles
of *** must eventually come to an end,
licking dry lips to find the
last vestiges of salt

or the taste of you
still on his tongue,
wild and carefree, an unbroken thing

like this heart that still beats
within his chest,
undeterred by the passage of time

maybe this is a waiting game
that you both know well,
waiting for your voice to ring out
over the swells to warn this weary sailor
of the rocks just up ahead

(besides, a ship is just a ship
a sailor is just a man wed to the open ocean
a lighthouse is just another lonely port)

a welcome and a warning
that drives the two of you further away,
asking himself if it’s worth it
to crash upon the jagged edges
of your cliffs again

and already knowing the answer,
as he stops and turns
to meet the waves

men like to romanticize the sea,
and with a mistress like that,
can you really blame me?

but the sea does not care
for my affections,
the pretty words that i spin
to describe her beauty

and this is something that
must not be forgotten,
that this great watery expanse
cares not for your boats
or beating red hearts

for she will drown you
just the same

and yet, once named
the search will not stop,
or the loss will haunt you

sometimes, lover,
the call of the sea
sounds like your name

and i have searched for you
as long as there has been
breath in my lungs

and with a love like that,
can you really blame me?

i wonder if building
a house inside of myself
wouldn’t be the worst thing,
the worst choice i’ve ever made

and i chose to love
you on purpose, ya know?
brought fresh pine and soft rugs
to fashion you a table and chairs

but what is an empty table,
if only a centerpiece to display
all the times i dashed my own
heart upon the rocks?

still, i can’t blame the soft
and rain-soaked dirt of your soul
for not being able to nourish
the flowers i so carefully planted

so i will take these wooden planks
and fashion myself a little cottage,
maybe with a wrap-around porch and
window boxes,
and wouldn’t that be nice?

because these hands of mine, lover
they know not the days old
stubble on your cheek, or tucking
bright yellow dandelions and buttercups
behind your ear

but they do know
how to build something from nothing
something from what once was
a ship, a lighthouse, a table

a sturdy front porch
that always has the light on

yearning like a choke chain,
like a feral animal
chewed off its own back paw
caught in the jaws of a
steel trap

and what you did to me
didn’t hurt any more than
what i did to myself

though,
what did you do,
besides tell the truth,
that you couldn’t love me back?

how could i resent
you for that,
my love?

because i did what
i do best as a hopeful
romantic and self-proclaimed bard

i fell in love
let this yearning make me
into a love-sick fool

only ever a fool for you,
which is a nicer way of saying
i broke my own heart
before you ever even
got the chance to try

and maybe there’s
a certain kindness in that.
holding all this yearning at bay

trying to find a good metaphor
to say i still love you
and not have it sound desperate and sorry
at the same time

my fiery-haired siren
this lady of the ocean and the waves
she says over a static-y cell connection
that i feed her heart,
that i am a garden

and suddenly,
the darkest parts of me
are bursting with sunshine
colored in shades of gold
for what feels like the same time

she tells me
that this garden blooming
isn’t just flowers,
it’s bees and green grasses
and the running horses

and i want to tell her
that i will always run to her
like the circle of her arms around
me is always calling me home

and i want to gift her
sweet wines and cheese,
and all the words i have
to offer, because she deserves them

and it’s not her siren call
that led me here,
but one heart recognizing another
as a place to sit and rest for a while,
to plant more flowers and watch
the wild horses run