he didn’t ask.
  i didn’t want him to.
no command.
  no silence.
    only the slow
      shift
        of gravity.
the spine
  yielded first.
then
  the breath.
then

    the idea
      that this
        was ever mine.
he entered,
  not with force,
    but with weight.
and i
  did not open.
    i let go.
it wasn’t pain.
  but something
    fell
      from me.

or
  was pulled.

or
  never
belonged.
i remember the touch
  not as skin,
    but as
      a shift
        in pressure,
          a presence
            that never returned.
he didn’t say
  “mine.”
but i answered
  in the way
    my thigh
      stopped resisting
        the edge
          of being
              used.

—

Flaunt your joy
Dig your sorrow
You have only today
Who knows 'bout morrow!

You cannot overwater
A plant because you missed a day
And expect it to grow
The same way

I never knew she was a gold digger till she said, "I wanna make you mine"

Sometimes,
I catch
myself Swaying,
like there is
an eternal metronome
that my spirit
hears.
Or,
A song that my
soul must keep
time with.
It beats to the art
that surrounds me.

Such a delicate balance,
between the cactus and
the sun.
Between the dog and
the bone.

When they autopsied the
Tin Man, there were
irises and orchids and
Neruda poems where
his heart should have
been.

Love is an overused
word,
but an underused
gift.

Evening sky reflects
on the glass lake.
The soldier of a
tree carries on
through the lonesome
night.
If we could only
see the dreams of
the fish,
far from the
frying pan.