Let us
teach the stars how to dance
guide the constellations into a lemniscate
bend their chaotic lines
trace different paths for them.

Let me
decorate the ballroom with shadows
drape the night against the walls
scatter moonlight across the floor
feed our guests cosmic dust

And you will
buy me a dress of starlight
wear a suit of midnight
touch me the way you would a moonstone
take me to the celestials.

Let us
dance the night away.

“A man who lies to others is a liar, but a man who lies to himself is a fool.”

So call me a fool. Call me vulnerable, fragile, tainted, shattered, jaded, cynical. I would rather lie to myself than let you in, because I am not known for my bravery, and I never will be. Call me a coward. Call me proud, selfish, bitter, angry, sad, damaged. I would rather take the easy way out, because there is no way I will tear down walls I’ve built for years just for you. I am not that strong. Call me weak. Call me blind, deaf, senseless, foolish, ignorant, insane. I would rather be alone, because it is safe and secure and familiar, and because the sadness of it has become an integral part of me—I wouldn't know how to live without it. Call me pathetic. Call me defeated, lonely, haughty, rejected, triumphant, defeated, defeated, defeated.

I want to forget the sound of your voice. I want to forget your hands, your fingertips. I want to forget your face, your smile, your laughter.

I want to forget the color of your eyes.

Bring a stone for our feet
and we'll study the contours of our bodies
with fingers grappling like tenterhooks
Dig our palms into bared flesh
and we will spill laughter from our mouths
down our collars, our throats
like spirited red wine
I will lose my foothold to run my toes
across your ankles

And with hilarity
staining our clothes
your arms will collar me to you
So when your lips find mine
we will tumble to the embrace of the rippling sea

And kiss
and breathe
underwater.

Black
Shriveled
Flaking at the edges
Crumbling into a shipwreck
crashed far too many times
      into someone else's shore
Walls are peeling off the collapsing interior
      the paint is scratched with claws
Not enough pillars, not enough strength
      Samson's arms are long broken
Blood forms blades
Ribs remain cages, prisons
Curling into a fist
Knocking on someone else's heart

It's a door
     that will never open.

Crippling chaos
ceaseless and wearying

Cliffs cave in
collapse into the hungry sea

Create confounding cages
cold in a furnace
conflagrating in a blizzard
contort into a cavern
capable, perhaps, of crumbling
chiseled into its fated form
cascade along the corners

cry desperation
curse the distance and
choose to—

cut and
close

I sift through a sea of pebbles—coarse grit and polished faces. This is how it feels to touch memories that have long faded—photographs with white edges and yellow corners. Perhaps here in this infinitesimal rivulet of cumulated sand, perhaps here I once was in hell. My skin remembers these tiny details—the claw-like pinpricks of granule and stone as they swim into the gaps of my fingers. And here come the worn but smooth edges.

Longing for the past should not be called anticipation, but it paints the back of my throat with the taste of salt and sugar and leaves. But the long winding path leading to more pebbles is masked by the ceaseless onslaught of undertow, fascia rippling as if shaken by quakes not just of the earth.

I wait for the tide to calm, for obscurity of undulation to halt. I am still waiting. I want to see what is beyond. I will touch the images from before as if they have tangible form. I can still taste the sea.

But I want to see what the rest of the river is like. I want to know the future.