lesbians will want to write about your hands
the way they wrap around warm cups of tea
and clench and unclench with rage and pride
she'll notice the delicate length of your fingers
how they feel pressing and bruising into soft flesh
the art they make, the stories they create
the blood sprouted from knuckles in societal protest
their kindness, their firmness, their warmth
lesbians memorize every mark and line of them
how they never strike her
how they settle in her own, how they feel inside her
how you use them to clasp your bra and pin up your hair
the way you draw them together, how they fold into you
when they touch to your lips, when they touch to hers
how they pass through her barriers, sneak under shirts
wake her from sleep, lull her to rest, appear in her dreams
lesbians will take them in her own
hold them to her mouth, her breast, her heart
wonder what they are doing at any time of the day
feature them in fantasies and daydreams
claim them as her own, as if they were hers
love them when they shake and when they are steady
she'll want your hands to be her hands and hers to be yours
interchangeable, familiar, worshiped

The burrows of a life inside
of deep and narrow almost lies
until the brave of full disclosure
I live and breathe beneath exposure

A soul its own a natural seed
who struggles in the normalcy
a pace of right that’s set for we
the tribe of unconformity

I swim in the strangest of pools
Of down weighted accounts
Never in company with the man of slumber
In darkness of mind I wish to be taken
To soon forgotten dreams and fitful terrors
The whispered thought and whimpers come
Wrapped in silence unrested bones lay waking
To swim in the strangest of pools
Never in company with the man of slumber

Now words you said feel like a ghost
I’ll raise a glass to myself a toast
Forgetting how our lips would fit
And lustful nights, they don't exist
Endearing words sit different here
In memories that aren’t so clear
How nothing makes me miss the days
And all my love goes on and fades

if my chest were a juicebox
i could stick a straw through
the filmy layer between my ribs
wrap my arms around myself
and squeeze
and squeeze
until every drop of me was drained

fist full of her sweater
the blue with the white letters
nothing poetic about a first time beggar
I said “I wouldn’t hurt you, I wouldn’t
but I could you should know”

if you’re lightning I’m thunder
and this sky is our home

when you’re 18 and hungry
for how life was told
first time on your feet and feeling real bold
you say “I wouldn’t hurt you, I wouldn’t
but I could you should know”

when you’re 18 and foolish
and don’t want to let go

I could make this a letter; a sorry to all
I could have done better
and you’re not painted in gold
I said “I wouldn’t hurt you, I wouldn’t
but I could you should know”

if you’re lightning I’m thunder
and that sky was our home

Did they feel the war coming?
Taste it like metal on their tongues?
Even if the paths were unclear,
were the seams and cracks
where nations began to crumble detected?
Did they feel the war coming?
Like a bad dream that kept getting worse?
Even if the voices shushed them,
did they know it was upon them
did they feel like this too?

scratch the ink from beneath my skin
in the places that you've been
twenty years from now i'll say i'm burning
and churning and churning an absence of yearning
the taste between my tongue and cheek
gritty regret extracting bitter from sweet
forget me please like i've done you
if only if only that were true