and i wonder if you keep the image
of my face tucked away in a tiny hiding place
where you don't always have to see it
but find endless comfort in knowing it's there,
like the picture i keep of my mother when she was nineteen
in my wallet only having to look at it
when i ride the bus or purchase something
necessary or to show to people just so i can say
"look! wasn't she pretty! do i look like her?"
without hearing their response
because the answers are all
in the questions

and i wonder if your hands find themselves
writing tiny letters in your diary
letters that are born of the outline of our
memories
like the way my hands so often do
and i wonder if you have a reserved sign
sitting on a table in your heart for me
just like i do
for you

i remember that night on your front steps
smoking cigarettes and talking with your mother
while
i cradled your heart and
you cried on my chest

i remember middle school english class
and your first thong,
pink and white and blue

i remember we made that bourbon summer
last until december

i remember bottle rockets and champagne
the morning your brother died

i remember carrying you home
in the rain
the day after you escaped from the hospital
and you cried then, too.

i remember lying on the cold ***** tile
of your mother's kitchen
whispering Neruda in your ear
shivering & sweating with you
that night we took ecstasy

i remember the first night
you let me slip an honest prayer between your lips

There's some nights like these

When I can't resist the thought

Of your lips pressed against my cheeks

And your fingers dancing across the new ******* I bought

We sit in this room talking and laughing
No judgement, no secrets
And a large box of M & M's shared among friends
I cherish each word and every obnoxious chortle
Every anecdote, which fills this space
I cling to this moment and wish for it to endure
While we sit in our private sector of the world
Set aside from the foundation shattering headlines and news bulletins
We neglect the impending deadlines created by worldly demands
For a moment nothing on earth matters

This village of two hundred and fifty six people probably won’t ever be ready for you.
Your secret will haunt the community for as long as it takes them to pretend you don’t exist
At first people may scream and cry
Fathers will load their shotguns and little old ladies will lock their doors
Afraid that you are bold enough to profess your love for another man
But behind the bolted windows and petrified stares
Know that you are not alone
Supporters will come from the most unknown places
Someday we can hope this place will change
But that doesn’t mean you have to wait to be honest with yourself
This place will always be filled with gossip
Where news is spread between hair dryers at the local salon
And political conservatism is ten times bigger then the grocery store
In this small corner of the world, where kind words and friendly greetings are waiting on every street corner you will meet the disgusting face of hatred
But when hatred dies, love will come up from it’s ashes

some words move me so much
that i am surprised
they do not cause an earthquake

(i wonder how my bones shake
without the world taking notice)