the sun also rises
with the smoke,
staling sweetly
while the coffee drinkers
scatter dewy dawns.
we're smoking your last cigarette
letting soreness seep into
concupiscent sluggish limbs,
as sleep-cornered bedroom eyes
melt their waxy redness
into the cruelty of morning light.
insipid tongues, chapped and swollen,
speak in strokes of satin whispers;
breathy simple silken strands
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                 "you're so soft"
scintillate resplendence
with moth-wing gentleness
to evanesce the daybreak chill.
how i yearn to remain
in between the days,
hazily hidden in the serenity
of our echo-quiet secret place.

i am roused by paltry gasps
in the furrow of my consternation--
dizzying, still,
is the puzzling weight of vacuity,
my shapeless existence
where the wind has blown the weakness from your heart
and you've settled like ceiling-fan dust;
invisible, i asphyxiate
in sultry bated breaths
like the acrid smoke that seems to leave your lips
so romantically,
so gleefully anesthetized
in our secret place
where we pollinate the emptiness,
legs sticky with desire
and rapt with a fleeting symbiosis.
we awaken in ambiguity,
the taste in my mouth
is your yesterday's heaving tongue.
little lamb, sad-eyed baby,
thrush with too much touch,
always leaving in that heavy-eyed hurry.
your sweater brushes against my face,
i smell the paint that's stained a cold and ringed finger.
my senses are frenzied and willfully discordant
until you open the front door
and dissolve away--
dissipate into the realness of the day.
in my vapidity, i wait.
i wait.

you can't always wring love out of wanting to save someone*

you're left yearning to be pocket change
rubbing subtly on her thighs forever.
in vexatious clinks you sing
of your forgotten value

i am satiated sinful--
who cares more?
that we've been scorching bliss
and grafting these
blameless bittersweet distractors
like we won't hear thunder-
hiding from the condescending constancy
of raindrops on the tin garage
i will swallow you
until my belly rumbles
"enough cataclysm,
enough leaky roofs,"
filling me with sloshing
wistful reminders
of our tranquil dampness,
a shivering placidity in
our secluded synchronicity.

i understood

setting fire to the misplaced,
mismatched threads-
maladroit pleated-squares
of a warm, well-adjusted haven.
"i gave you that sweater."
yes, and as it drapes me
loosely like a lover's grip
losing interest,
losing heart

i feel so small and sheepish.
silent, sullen sinews
that i have sunken into,
though: "i'm so glad you are here."
yes, words fall out
faintly from my coward eyes about
losing interest,
losing heart

i understood

that when you left there'd be
no goodbyes

i understood