you did not shake or shiver when the
hunter grabbed you by the throat and
tried to tear your skin off head to toe.
no one respects a crying king.

once,
you ran across and through the
jungle and roared loud enough to shake
the galaxies above and down under.
there was no force strong enough to hold you down.

lover,
you think of your father when you think about
what it means to be a man and you
work your hands to the bone so your son
will think of you too
when he is running through the jungle
yelling at the moon.

my lion.
you did not shake or shiver when the
hunter dug his fingertips underneath your ribs
to laugh and see if he could do it.
you didn’t flinch when he pulled out the
incissor and cut down
every single one of your claws

no.
armor does not make a soldier
and a crown does not make a king.
the hunter skinned you head to toe,
my lion
and you never made a peep.

there are twin
five finger scars
over our hearts
and on our wrists
from all the times
we tried to catch a grip.

life steeped our minds
up and down crevices.
dunked our heads
under freezing water
but never let us drown.

we are still connected.
a red string from your
pinky finger to mine.
the mirrored lines of the
five finger scars
over your heart
your wrists
and mine.

we no longer talk
about our sparing
matches with powdered
lines or one too many pills.
we fight our own battles now.

i still pray you don’t get killed.

i want to know if you still call him baby
when he slithers into bed
smelling of channel no.5 and marlboro reds.
it was you that should’ve quit years ago.

sometimes you wait alone on
meatloaf wednesdays
a little longer than on spaghetti saturdays,
because meatloaf is his favorite
and maybe he will show up on time tonight.

i want to know if you still call him baby
when he whimpers her name into your pillow
when he is fast asleep.
so it can haunt you at all hours of the night
so you will hear the three syllables
in everything you do all day.

tiffany
tiffany
tiffany

the *** sings on the stove,
and all you hear is tiffany.

when he is tracing your cheeks with
his fingertips, he is carving her name
into your face.
he is thinking of her skin.

do you still call him baby
when he wont look at you when
you tell him that you miss him?
do you still call him baby
when he flinches away from your kiss?
do you still call him baby
when he ***** you to the thought
of another heartbeat?

do you still call him baby
when he aches to say
*i love you, tiffany

you shrewd mistress.
when you are restless you raise
mountains with your power over
the earth then claim
no one made the effort to climb against
you

you shrewd mistress.
arranging daisies by color,
shape, liveliness and smell.
pulling petals till your fingers bleed
all so you can feel well
you

you shrewd mistress.
tossing and turning,
finding the hidden meaning behind your dreams
sitting next to strangers,
thinking about all the love there could be
between him and
you

you shrewd mistress.
standing quietly in the cold,
you’d never make a fuss.
just wait for it to build up and over,
build another mountain
wait for someone
anyone
to climb over to
you.

we no longer achieve
intimacy by
peeling off our
skin like the band aid
that will sting as it is torn away.

intimacy is the art
of feeling like a monument torn apart,
hoping no one will tear you down
to create a better
you.

i have become depressed-
repressing all the love i have to give
if only i could shed my shadows
and remember we are only flesh.

i don’t remember
how to be intimate.

i want a girl that
looks like an angel and ***** like sin.
leaves like a refugee in the middle of the night
avoids the tumultuous battle between my mind
and my insides.
leaves before she’s caught up in the genocide
that is inevitably coming to both sides.

a girl that knows better
a girl that at least should.

your hands they work like levees
and you stop me when you've had enough
too much
build up my walls cause you couldn't handle it all

i am
an ocean
the sea
angry, unpredictable
monsters hide under me
lurking in the darkest corners
inching towards the faintest smell of blood
crave the warmth between their teeth

but your hands
they work like levees
pushing and
pulling away
when you've had too much
one day
it will not be enough.

i will sneak in through the smallest crack
if you give me the chance
walls will crumble like babylon
and i will be relieved
i will get everything i need
not enough
not too much
i will snap your hands
overflowing,
smash your levee down