Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

perhaps unintentionally
he left a blue service pen
and a tube of chapstick
hidden in the inner pockets
of the coat he gave to me
and all I could do was cry
over lip balm and the
receipt from that teriyaki
place in December, on the
way home, I drove under
25, a heavy heart but two
feet MIA, and I wondered
over and over, over and
over, would anybody, will
anybody love me as much
as he did?

The rainstorm seemed to retire, but that was ignorant to think. I had expectations, nothing so dramatic. All I looked for was a promise or a resolution. You know my true feelings, but you still won’t promise me what I want. I felt overflowed, like living in a darkened tunnel. Your own preciousness is silent. What I could have done with a few seconds more, but I watched you through the window. We used to sleep like that. Now wire fences rule my life. It is so so silent.

Do you remember the apple cider?
Your house was always cold, every-
thing was always apples. I never
did get the matching triforce tattoo
with you and that is okay because I
don't like tattoos anyway. You didn't
ruin the Legend of Zelda for me, I
just said that. Remember to drink water.
Remember that everyone you ever meet
is responsible for their own feelings and
their own problems. Remember that lots
of things provide temporary fixes but
never solace.  

How about those frogs? Never a silent moment
until I yelled out your window and you lamented
over the amphibious life you stole with the lawn
mower. (I noted that I had caught frogs at my
grandfather's funeral).

Here's to your earliest memory. Standing in a hamper looking out
the window until your mom picked you up. Was there a bucket
involved? Here's to your scars, your split finger, right next to your pinky the red
on your cheeks, the rough texture of your triceps. That other chris in
kindergarten, Mercer? Did he steal your first love? Haven't smelled
your stomach for a year but I am pretty sure it still smells like
leather. Your hair, soft in the middle, rough around the edges.

Will I ever have enough documentation?

You taught me that tap water doesn't **** and that
all you have to do to make anything perfect is add
an egg or two.

Deep breath
Deep breath
Deep breath
Deep breath
Deep Breath

It was his concluding gaze.
Enclosed by persons
Why would he choose me?
Choose to leave me scarred
A brand I've not once elapsed.
I never knew his name,
Never stayed to see what became of him.
I know he died that night,
Bled out like a pig on the cement.
He looked at me to save him,
But I ran.
A  c o w a r d too frightened to help a stranger.
I've not, not ever not told anyone,
Of these eyes that haunt me,
Of this night that plagues my wakefulness.
To see him pricked four whiles,
Punctured over babble.
I hate him for what he did.
Blaming me with concluding eyes.

I gave the hero of this story trust
issues. So that when his castle fell he
wouldn't worry about the damsel still
calling from the ramparts, where I hold court
in the dust. For this is my battlefield
where the headstones will read like love letters
and the weeds will serve as the royal seal.

I gave the hero of this story hope
a magic bean and two old china cups.
But the china, brittle, the bean rotten
as these once fertile lands lie waterlogged.
You can't grow your crops here, boy, go home.
I'll drown this hero before he can stand
the sight of the muddy bank. A hero's death.

I gave the hero of this story bread
water, and melody. To help him sleep
soundly and noiselessly, still. Arms, pillows
sway to the metronome of the city
beating such a heroic retreat. Stand
with fingers touching, childlike and brave.
Until the next wave comes and holds. It breaks.