Between your breath
in my hair
the weaving of sunlight
by the window,
the sky’s audacity to resemble
that of a painted sorcery
violin legs intertwined—
darling, i am
undone.
Stay.
Blow a gentle kiss on my skin,
but forget, I shall not,
that this all but a dream.
Let me lament
a morning dressed
in apology.
Let me toss and turn
to a quiet soliloquy.
What is there to grip
but a ghost
molded by the loneliness
of the night.
What’s it like to be the lonely?
What’s it like to be the night?

it’s a bit of a wicked monstrosity
a skinned-down canvas
lines drawn onto surfaces where they dont belong
ticking
a cocktail of poison
catharsis to your bloodstream
ticking
but the clock strikes 6 in the morning
and your limbs still tango to a pool of stoic
how do you sharpen your teeth?

there’s a corridor
with red-slippered footsteps
and echoed voices
and healing that sounds like a last man’s meal
the merry-go round stops.
cuffs nowhere in sight
but every move makes the shackles clang
ticking
there’s a palm tree view on a wall
a silhouette of the grand scheme of things—
an archive of the unspoken.

perhaps we’re all just flickering lights
and passerbys
on an unending roundabout.
one day she’ll see that palm tree again.
one day, maybe not.

Love isn't blind,
blind are those,
who never loved.

what could you know of her;
the girl whose palms had collected
the dark spaces
with frolicking knees
and grace unscathed.
who kept the static
buried under her tongue
with her mouth bleeding--
arms that only knew of warmth.
sawdust for sweat,
spine,
a perfect concave.
somewhere in the distance
stars had collapsed,
but she was no longer a lost tourist
in a night sky where even the cosmos
were not made to last.
the desert had settled quietly in her eyes.
maybe that's okay.
there's a war within the walls
that she wins everyday
when she gets her limbs out of the bed
and plasters on her happy,
even when the fallacies float in her lungs like rising mud.
they wonder,
when was the last time she's ever felt
the kind of love
that wasnt a makeshift raft
caught in the middle of a hurricane.
she shifts her shoulders.
when you salvage yourself
even with the last of the pieces you've got,
you refuse to deprive yourself of the ability
to heal.
we're all healing from something.
we're all trying to make it
to the next sunrise.
paddle.
paddle that raft to the sunrise.

Where has the time gone by?
You used to love me
with all your heart.
And now you love me
with only the words
your mouth could afford
to decorate.

Where has the time gone by?
A chainsmoker bids goodbye
to his last cigarette.
And a lover,
oh her lover's love...
has begun to die.
Both flames
eventually lose ignition.
And oh,
where has the love gone by?

The first time
you said you loved
me, it was as if
I had been pulled aboard
a life raft after being
lost at sea. But
I see now that this
raft is littered with
holes and
we are sinking, but
you are convinced
that your love is a
teacup to scoop out
the water pooling around
my ankles and you will save
us, but the teacup has a crack
down one side and
do you see where I
am going with this?
A tablespoon of water
will never put out
a forest fire; I am burning
through acres.