Black windowpanes
Single yellow candle
Abandoned lighthouse
On an empty island
The kain batik waves
In the seven pm heat
But words have never switched
Between stranger’s lips
Except casual mouthfuls
Of how many sugars
To take
His folded sleeves
Show a mess
Of watercolor etching
On his bare back
Spread by forgotten strokes
And careless promises
That lingers through morning
At night the ink leaks free
His back a still canvas
Filling with nicotine
And ketamine dreams
And missed yellow brick roads
Right before the light goes out
Tomorrow he will wake
With the colors in
Once more

As I blew my candles out
I forgot to make a wish
Instead I let my chest tear
Like wrapping paper
And satin ribbons
Tighten at my chest

I watch the window wipers
Chase the raindrops
And realize that no matter
How hard I run
I can’t breathe you back
Into my empty lungs

I close my eyes
There is a ringing inside
My hammering head
My rattling insides
About you that says
I cannot be alone anymore

Your body was once my atlas
The lines of our hands
Play the latitudes and longitudes
Across the Seven Seas of Sheets

The compass between your ventricles
Was once the brightest star
An eternal celestial sphere
In my constellation

Lover, be other worldly
Let your limbs run free
Like the roots of the Angsana tree
Down, deep and dark.

as a bundle of batik cloth
you carried me
slung across your shoulders
a mess of curls and hungry crying
you sing me words I don’t understand

after the rain
you sweep the fallen leaves
with one arm against your back
and the weight of shadows you could not leave
at home

sleepy faced in a bowl of morning cereal
your fingers braid my bed head
with bright blue ribbons
that intertwine our worlds together
and then apart

red faced
shoes unlaced
i stumble through the door
tripping on sentences
you say nothing
but tuck me in

back in her homeland
she left her two children
only to gain two more
and when i leave for snow this August
i will be leaving not just one mother
but two

night after night
she walks into wonderland
under hazy streetlights
to let thorns
shred her delicate petals
now her rosebud, gone forever

her eyes as dark
as the rolling tires
on the highways
that she sells herself on
sell your soul to the devil
he will let you keep the change

drunk on despair
and living on borrowed time
the wolves of yesterday
the dirt under her fingernails
linger like the voices
of the monsters under her bed

creamy thighs spread wide
for an endless audience
to spoon her milky honey
lick their fingers clean
clean of their conscience
the white washed walls

may the prickly blood
of the cold winter
not stain the white walls
or shrivel the leaves
but lead her to the water
and set sail in a teardrop

my heart’s an old motel room
all filthy carpets
and no hot water
no fresh towels
to dry yourself
from tears that won’t roll over
like i do in bed

when the sun kisses the earth
i surrender
to 9 to 5 lovers
that kiss my cold corpse
my eyes at ceiling fans
my body in hands
that don’t belong to You

rolling in sheets
rolling papers
the smoke between my fingers
is it the night mist?
or the cigarette silk worms?
I exhale between make believe
love making

the rain raps at the window
asks me why i’m in hands
hands that don’t belong to You
but i can’t roll over
so i wait for tomorrow
to come back down
and start again

I used to not
Be able to distinguish
The brushstrokes between
Our lips when they pressed
Together.
But now all my paintings
Remain
Unfinished.

Underneath cotton lengths
A prism of daybreak
When my eyelids beat faster
And louder than my own heart
That is when you know
That morning may not
Bring the light

the gods told me
that while we lay last night
they wound a tiny red ribbon
around our little fingers

a ceaseless pinky promise
stitched into the fabric of our skin
to be tangled and stretched
but never severed

snaking through stars and satellites
for the destined ones
to seek each other
calamity after calamity

tonight our worlds have separated
by time, place and circumstance
but we will meet again
when our shadows find their way out of the dark

please don’t let me
lose my lips
to open wide
and let it slip

yellowed pages
the tiny crosses
mark the sins
within my pocket

to be weightless
was my cheek
against the cold wet tile
the sound of running water

i am not my body
but a lump of atrophied muscles
a bundle of bones
staring into leagues of watery deep

it was then i knew
that my disorder
was louder than my body
and that all things drown in the end