I haven't seen the sun
since the summer you left me.

I've been sliding
through this cave for months.

August left--
cold scold, quick breath.

In September
the trees lost their pages.

November blew
and dumped buckets of tears

on a doorstep that I built
in a dream.

December knew
and darkened her sun

froze,

Waited for snow.

Wide the door was thrown
To the breeze and yellow sun
Bird-on-his-song-glides

It must be convection
      this circulation of thought
  but I appreciate you, I
              do
                      like a fish in the desert
         wonderfully alive for no reason
                   scientists can explain but
            hey, if the fish is happy

  when this energy is
              put to paper and
         vibration
               in the near
      future, all the desert fish in the
                    world's sands will
         stop their party and
  sing out
          hallelujah

You are not
the you
you were
when you
were mine.

And me?
Maybe I’m not the same either.
Maybe I’m something better.
Maybe you don’t deserve me now.
And maybe,
just maybe,
you never did.

There was nothing plastic
About the way your smile showed
Or about the way your arms felt
But a voice in the back of my head told me so
And last weekend
I melted a carpet I thought was wool
You could have fooled me
Except now there is a hard, shiny, iron-shaped mark
Plastered into the carpet's soft mat
To be honest, I was a little disgusted
When I pulled the iron away and found
Strings of green and red clinging to it like bubblegum
And to be honest, I felt a little disgusted with myself
Not to mention you
When I left a handprint in your soft back
And strings of skin still sticking to my palm
Prove you, my little plastic boy, are just a doll
By all the tests that matter
A human illusion too easily destroyed
By an excess of warmth