Today I saw you
Tonight I forgot

When I lived in the city, night, true night, never came.
The natural day gave way to the artificial day,
a day made possible by streetlight, by humming billboard.
With sick pinks and near-white greys, the early hours
hiccuped away. I slept or didn't. And this time in my life,
as any time in my life, is marked by a woman.

I won't say much about her. She was a performer,
and I've never been a steady fan of much of anything.
So when I kissed her the last time, I kissed her like it
was the last time, a kiss calibrated to say, "It's been."
When she kissed me the last time, she kissed me
like she didn't know it was the last time,
a kiss not so much a kiss as a mouth half-opened eternity,
where the sun didn't shine, nor was there night.

A pin has a head, but has no hair;
A clock has a face, but no mouth there;
Needles have eyes, but they cannot see;
A fly has a trunk without lock or key;
A timepiece may lose, but cannot win;
A corn-field dimples without a chin;
A hill has no leg, but has a foot;
A wine-glass a stem, but not a root;
A watch has hands, but no thumb or finger;
A boot has a tongue, but is no singer;
Rivers run, though they have no feet;
A saw has teeth, but it does not eat;
Ash-trees have keys, yet never a lock;
And baby crows, without being a ****.

This was not love making.
This was sin
and the devil victoriously
danced between the sheets.

I want you to scar my back
leave wounds deeper than
the ones they gave me back
In high school
Bite me in places where
she could only kiss me
because she couldn’t
handle what was underneath
I want to feel the crushing
weight of you pressuring my skin
to touch my bones
every place where you and I meet
There’s a moon begging the sun
For a solar eclipse

have you forgotten me
or lost the path here?
i wait for you
all day, every day
but you do not appear.

Cigarettes and
red nail polish,
and one night stands,
that's what little girls are made of.

Bright blue pills and
soft pink lips,
and whiskey soaked nights
laced in regret,
that's what little girls are made of.

The sharp boys who whisper
behind street lamps in parks
know nothing of
what little girls are made of.

Broken hearts,
crushed dreams,
bitter souls, and
black coffee,
that's what little girls are made of.

Tear tracks and
bloodstains,
bruised knuckles and
fire.

That's what little girls are made of.