With bare feet and heavy eyes
the river draws me out of our
love stained sheets to swallow me
whole and straighten my minds eye.
Your half conscious whispers and
Nick Drake spin around my skull
as the sun desiccates my paper soul
to be consecrated in a mason jar
left in the cupboard.

These days
we are more
like slow drips
from a leaky
faucet than the
hydrant
burst
that we once
pooled our
past with.
But I guess
even a
puddle of
droplets
can still feed
the storm.

(This constant
flood &
drought
will never
let us grow)

regret drips
out the corners of
your mouth as if
it were the remnants
of some overly
ripened fruit.
I try to taste you
again but my
my tongue has
shriveled from
the coarse and
dry feelings
that have been
resting on it
for so long.  
I want to taste
your remorse
still lingering
on your tongue
instead of
this bitter feeling
you have left
me with.

I.
My body & mind
are drawn to you
like a moth to
the flame and
I unknowingly  
succumb to
your constant
gravitational pull.

II.
I never thought
this flame would
singe my paper
skin. But when
you fly into
the fire you
eventually
turn to ash.

All I really
want is
to let my
fingers
trace the
imaginary
constellations
hidden in the
freckles on
your skin
and to lose
myself In
the myth
your body
tells when
you move in
your sleep.

Sometimes I open my
mouth and smoke billows
out into the air. I know It
is you, burning inside of me.
And sometimes I can still
taste the charring embers
on the back of my tongue
as your remnants smolder
deep in the pit of me.
When your smoke clouds
my lungs, I struggle for just
a taste of clean air. As much
as I try to smother these flames,
the sparks continue and keep
your fire ablaze.

And I don’t want to die,
I just want to feel my
skin mix with this earth
and let the flowers sprout
from the cracks in my
dirt covered bones.