Hands, plural to make us one
Near the end of August the heat told me to stop
It's vicious, wanting you
No milder than the jaws of winter

And every person not you cuts
On the street, our wounded lips
Before October and on silver screens
Your face projected on everything

You wanted the cinema, I thought
So I spoke fumbled niceties at your door
But the camera was stuck in my eye

And the words I scripted shifted into your mouth
The breaths I take, the breaths I shout
Your smile corroded in the rain
Your endless longing,
My endless shame

It keeps me in this thought
That what I feel has no name
But the credits crept up with the dregs of December
Money is noisy, and I liked your quietudes

But the snow will blanket my blood-buoyant bright
And I will drown into night
To lay by you until dawn
To lay by you until you are gone

a long brown hair
pulled from a coat pocket
must have been yours
laying in there like a mine
then a shorter but still long
red strand poked out of
the knot in a blanket
still yours, but more fake
later an almost black hair
came from inside my pillow case
it was hers, stirred emotions
just a little too late
finally a turquoise one
belonging to a friend
but the kind that ended up
naked in my bed
and left questions
do you miss me?
was it just to get frisky?
does it matter?

let's talk about his
peanut butter thighs
and his cashew eyes
his cloaked voice that
floods me when he
speaks, and his
big hands and thin
fingers. Let's talk about
all of his parts that make
him whole and makes
my eggplant legs go
bump bump
in the night.

I am
as
quick
as your
tongue.

You used to
pay attention
to things like
my absence.
Where I've
been and
where I'm
going
as if I
ever knew
the latter.
I used to
hate your
questions
saying,
******* my
dust, I'm not
your star ***.
Before
hanging up the
phone or
shutting the door.
I can't believe
I actually
miss you
now.
And the way
you used to
kiss my lips
in my greatest
moments of
panic, holding
my chin up to
your face and
saying, *you
are my star.

It started nibbling on my spinal chord
not long ago
each day the bites get wider
tossing me into throws of
this all means nothing
or looking like my dad
while staring at the mirror hanging above the sink, It lingers

when I'm on my feet for too long
they turn red
making it hard for me to
stand for anything.
maybe my bed has a selfish plot
to keep me from ever leaving
with its sheets full of envy
forcing me to repeat defining moments
every time my mind deems it fit
to dream