a thousand little sunsets
dot the paint drip walls
and hospital gauze curtains
filter light down
dust spots swirling
in the empty space between
me and myself

as the rose gold horizon
trickles down the hourglass sand
and pools in deep violet
i ask you once more
if you think i could have
done it any better
if you had given me more time

and your candy floss smile wavers
sputters and falls
and you turn your face
to the paint drip walls
counting my sunsets
one by one

and as the night
drips down the walls
like sweet molasses
i, too
go quietly
the sweet surrender closing
over my head

in autumn cold i lose the sound
of your voice, dripping
in hues of gold and royal blue
     - curse my pockmarked memory
for not retaining
the velvet tenor
of my name rolling off your tongue
like a prayer

the air is not quite winter-cold
but the wind cries names
into my open window
          - interrupts my nights

she knows
          - the wind -
the liminal stillness of a dark room
and a warm bed
when words are not quite
words spoken
meaning explained away
with a smile and a laugh
and a promise of rationality
in the morning

she whispers
soft raised skin against my sheets
when the warmth of the room
comes from the sound of you
and a flicker of light
on a cellphone screen

i close my fingers
around the summer-ripe blossoms
that bloom in the cavities
carved into my chest
spindle fingers on ball joints
reach their spread for my waiting throat
close sweetly
softly
flush red white red
white red
and as you flood
back into my cheeks
breathing life under my skin
in the gasps of air i hear your name
foreign to my own ears
my mother tongue knows you
like a nursery rhyme
innately
like you live under my skin
flowing through my swollen veins
like sweet honey

and behind the cracks
the chips in my cherry cola smile
the gilded veins
that piece me together
and hold me upright
a splash of lavender
coats my skin
tongue and teeth
the sunset paints me a scattered palette
throwing casts in dusted rose
and perfumed letters
of purple prose
folded into sweet threes
and locked up tight
with a smudged lip mark
over the seal

she slid out of my life
like a glimpse
at the corner of my eye
a summer breeze
a quiet sigh
slipping sideways over diner floors
she trips on her way out the door
     - so soft that i would not have known
       had i not heard -
and before i can
open my mouth
or reach out a hand to stop her
she is gone
the wind carrying the coffee ground
of her hair
in muted tones

i hold
your words like flower petals
pressing my fingers together
and my hands close
against my chest
to keep moments from slipping
out of my early morning memory

and as the sky paints itself
brushstrokes of peach and smoky violet
i tally up the petals
between my fingers
arrange them on my bedspread
in the shape of my child’s heart
looking for patterns
in the veins
and tears from over use
and less than careful handling

maybe one day
when the empty space between
folds in on itself
and leaves us
whispering into the same air
i will gather my handful
of memories
press them into the palms of your habds
and hope they weigh the same
to you
as they do to me

these are truths-

the scent of a jacket draping us in darkness. cold glass against my fingertips and the back of my neck.

     these are truths-

the dissonance of guitar strings abandoned. the smell of wood and brass and oil and the feel of fingers on my skin.

     these are truths-

the echo of concrete walls. her hand in my own and her lips on mine. traces of red lipstick on the corner of her mouth. a camera pressed between our bodies, forgotten around her neck.

     these are truths-

bodies pressed in on all sides. the feeling of stiff curls between my fingers. once, twice, again. i am in two places at once. second chances and first encounters are not mutually exclusive.

     (these are not truths-

tear stained cheeks hidden under the cover of night. long bus rides with unfamiliar hands holding my shoulders to keep them from shaking. abandonment and rediscovery months later. an unfamiliar face after years apart.)

     these are truths-

autumn leaves crackling underfoot. i run my fingers through your hair and the scent sticks to my pillow as i fall asleep. you are not my home but for the first time that is not a bad thing. hands clasped on long car rides west. an uncertain future. longing. wanting.

     these are truths-

me.

     these are truths-

you.