Remember the long drives we used to take
down Pacific Coast Highway? The only road
worth traveling in the thick summer heat.
Pick your poison and wrap it in a palm leaf,
tell ourselves it's natural while we light it with a wick.

Oh darling, you make me grateful
for gloomy summer days. The only way
I can feel close when you're so far away,
or gone entirely, or everywhere at once, I don't know
how it works. All I know is you're not here,
and wolves parade in friendly forged masks,
wishing their energy could be even
a fraction of yours. Pretending
they spend theirs the same ways as you.

Only you and I know the truth.
The darkness you hid from most
that I was so honored to share with you.
We'd remind each other to come up for air,
each stuck in our downward,
spiraling undersea dreams.

There was no one else like us.
I'll never be quite whole again. True love
that was never in love--the thing about us
is we are made of it. We were the packing peanuts
around all those we love, but when
there was no longer enough the box emptied out,
and I stay here still wishing it might fill.

You and I sometimes speak in energies,
our auras reach out, connect, and entwine.
Like when you call out from another room
to me in the shower, just to tell me
that I am loved, when--unknown
to you--just moments before, I was trapped
in my head, apologizing still
for something I did a year ago.

You are the most attractive to me
when that's the way you feel.
You pull me into you with big brown eyes
and lashes long enough to do it alone.
Your hands, up behind your head,
effortless, and you smile to one side
while your hair just perfectly
swoops to the other, and there
was never another option; I am yours.

We travel the same paths every day,
usually the same paths, the same way.
The same paths between our homes and
wherever we regularly might have to go.
We know them, or rather, maybe, it is
our feet that do, because if you asked me the way
I’d tell you a series of here’s and there’s. I’d tell you
I remember to turn left at that light, because
if you don’t you’ll have to pass the house
that fooled me for a month, feeding me
steak for dinner and inviting me back
to fall asleep on red satin sheets. I’d mention
how I’ve thrown up at that gas stop, and
how it was my soulmate who first took me
to the dive bar we just passed, which means
you should left again when you see a tall, lonely tree.
I’d tell you then that when I’m sad, I take
the roads closest to the sea, so I can finish my coffee
or hear the end of a song on the radio.
I might not get you there, in fact I might leave you
more lost than you began. But you’ll find your way.
Wherever we go we have been before,
We can trust in our feet and not lose our way.

I’m pulling out grass,
wishing to feel closer to you.
I convince myself that it’s okay,
that I’m better, because I’ve learned
the beautiful craft of distraction.

I make sure there is always sound
vibrating off my walls, never a dull moment
in this skull. Numb it with herbs and every
time a voice goes low, drown it out
with stronger voices, any voices,
just never music. Or I’ll end up
right back where I began.

I’m pulling out grass
wishing to feel closer to you.
But instead I inhale, blink back
tears, pull myself off the ground.
It’s easier to carry on feeling nothing at all.

Something about
the way you hold a cigarette
makes me twirl beneath my skirt.
Sinister swirls release and retract
as they slip up out of your lips
like snakes. You should quit,
I tell you you should quit
as I curl into your lap like a kitten
and thank you for smoking.