in june i thought about your hair every day
because your reds were like the sun and felt warm even indoors.
in july i thought about your pulse
because your shirts were thin and i thought i could see your heart beating whenever i walked by.
in august i only thought about you every day
because it hurt too badly not to and thinking hurt less than a sunburn.
in september i stopped thinking about you
because you stopped thinking about me, and i found silence in familiar arms.
october didn't matter.
november was the same.
but
december i thought about your back every day
because your skin is like snow and your reds felt like the sun.

i crawled on my knees into a
new year
like evolution in
reverse.

it hurts to know that my Temple is of another faith than you care for
and it hurts to know that my Temple
                                                  might be burned to the ground
                                                  by your zealot hands
but this fear
and pain
and sometimes rain
can only last so long.

the wrong body sometimes touches me in my sleep
in toothless dreams and
quiet scenes.

i have to talk
      constantly
or i'll forget the sound of my voice and
lose myself inside
this vast vessel of bodies
in which i live (that is so
                                                              ­   filled with viruses
                                                         ­     there's no room for my thoughts)
and if i can forget the sound of my voice
how could you not?

i can feel the stress in your thighs the
voluptuous curves of memories pressed
tightly against my
hips and the petite ***** of
consciousness on my thumb, anemic
thoughts in my mind say no but
i'll always say yes.

i sometimes think i'm in love with the
bird-boy
who pecks holes in my wrists and puts pegs
through the fence (to keep me close by)
but bird-boy is
so young and
so sweet with
clear eyes and  
no clue that i think i may
be
a wren.