your hands are etched
with tiny dry lines
that cut
each one-way road to nowhere.

those tiny circles
you pretend to draw on my skin
always make me smile

“Before I go”
The words that oozed down from my lips to the floor
On the last day I felt the warm progress of your sleep
Standing naked among all the eyes of dawn’s early flowers
****** to death by passerby’s and
I empty all that hangs from my intestines unto these dry hands
A distant fake glimpse is all I get from being a dull **** to the appalling petals of your youth
Hopeless and desolate…waiting for the rain
My ugly mirror ball devouring the inches of a developing a soul and slowly the fractured stains strangling my interior
Have all been spent
The slow motion of your breath up against me
In doses I have taken the cheap blue masquerade
From your lips
I have stolen the thoughts which deliver sour milk to the
Icon babies of yesterday
That apocalyptic look-alike glue makeup on your face has kissed me naked in sunlight
Our figures loose their beginning and end
The fascination of pushing my sleep drenched hands into shallow water merely putting you to sleep
What if the world enjoyed the twist of your body breaking into the mirror deep?
Ascending across the wet brush strokes of some painters dreams
In my eyes your smile
It was the very last thing

On the surface of your skin
I can see
You are
Within the reflection of a breath
And soft
Spoken words
They demand everything
At once my
Heavy thoughts
Soak
In blood while
In some other world the desolation
Of days gone
Filters like 26
Fleeting memories
Strangled
By the hands of
Angels
I’ve described my moments on napkins
And given them to strangers
On the street
At some point my collapse
Will re-invent the air and the movement
Of your digestion
And the scary
Part of you
Will be there holding me down
Pressed
Against
The glass wall
The reflections will disappear and broken
Windows cut
Each
Artery
I’m letting
Go
Don’t be afraid
If all else within my reach loves
You then we can die
Like small raindrops trapped in a
Pothole
The miscarried thoughts of eyes
And saliva soaked kisses soon
Envelope you an extension of morning
And the hands that touched you in so many ways are now lost
In the vague shadows of your voice
Apprehending colors that disappear and I forget about you and silence
Left among the doves of grass
Your shelter it all

finding small reminders of
lips seeking ears to whisper into of
hands wishing you were here of
lost scents on the floor of
migrating sounds disassembling in mid-air of
words being spoken without touch

The softest parts of you
Bend in the air
Of eyes and feather like bones
The closed (open) mouth syndrome
That penetrates the disconnected sounds of worlds
Thrown at each other in the dark
A kind hew of melancholy that surrounds you
As I am numb everywhere
That you have touched and the long withering hand
That reaches out to me no longer shows the details of
Lost nights that glistened against your face
And your twisted alphabet is now left
To burn on the embers of faded ghost memories