The well-spoken
English monk
sits

in the porter's lodge
reading his breviary;
he turns the pages

with a thin
white finger.
I watched the ships

passing by
the window
of the abbey latrines,

the moonlight
on the water;
I recall how her lips

bit into me;
her arms
enfolded me

like a Black Widow spider.
Dom Pierre sits
in the refectory,

head to one side,
his eyes staring
into the blue

(or was it an empty black)
as if God
was staring back.

When the Seattle rain falls and
Pings on the mailbox --
The chill outside jostling the
Doorknob to find it locked --
Our rooms will be grey with overcast.

The TV will hum and thrum, and
Fuzz around our heads
While the ***** socks lay off
The foot of the bed
With us buried deep inside.

Her glistening eyes will sit inches
From mine, gingerbread
And coffee dripping in thick caramel
From which the gloom fled
Like tsunamis back out the windows,
      and

Like braille under my fingertips I'll feel
The goosebumps of her skin,
And we'll lay here like it's the place
We've always been, with Yossarian's
Tail thumping the floor.

Albany Rosaline Smith.
On Mondays Albany went down to the store to get milk.
Her mother always gave her twenty five cents.
Twenty for the milk,
And five for some candy.
All the boys she passed along the way would tell her how she was
Genuinly beautiful.
And she knew it.
Albany was gorgeous.
On her sixteenth birthday she let Bobby Fisher
**** her under the oak tree
Out back in the feild behind the pond.
"You're something special there, Albany,"
He told her.
She knew it was true,
But it was a nice gesture,
So she let him **** her from behind this time.
Albany became Misses Fisher two years later,
Three weeks after graduation.
It was just the thing to do back then.
They had four kids,
And she was a good mom.
Mathilda, Lizabeth, Marcus, and Temprance.
Three of which were Bobby's.
One of which was the town physician's.
Bobby never knew.
He was a mill worker.
He was not very bright.
But Albany was.
Bright and Beautiful.
She died at the age of forty-two.
She was ***** an killed by the doctor.
He was also the mortician,
So no one questioned it.
It was a small town

The Sun holds her chisel ever steady
In her warm tan hands;
She presses the warm steel
To my face.
She is obsessed with time --
Knowing she's getting
Ever older.
With every circle I dance around her,
She etches another tally
On my face,
To remind herself how old she is
In me.

It was the Watermelon in your hair --
You know,
The way the red juice dripped
Off your draping curls, and spilled
On your shirt.

It was the way you sat with me while
We watched fireworks --
A love I couldn't yet feel while I was
Still so Alone
-- and before that when we
Sat at the park, listening
To ****.

It was the way it was you and me,
Laughing over a small screen
Away from the others; the way
You made me feel so wanted.

It was the way you snorted when
You laughed, and lifted your
Nose to give me piggy
Kisses after each and every one.

But the it was never stopped.
It never will.

Let go of the branch with
Me. We are both flush red
With each other and it is
Time for us to go ahead,
Down to the river that flows
And eddies in pools
That will take us away and
Spin us like spools.

It is October and we cling high
Above in a time that calls Fall,
And we resist because we feel we are
Each a universe, but
Forget that we are Galaxies
In diapers.

I will be with you until
The sun is cold,
And I will love you until
We are old and withered,
And you are still  Goddess.
I know I will be with you
Because you
Are the only one I want
In my lungs,
Giving me my words and
Teaching my tongue --
Your habits of love
Change me daily and
I find myself
Speaking you.

There is everywhere to breath
around this room.

By the window. Where the trees grow
and the speed limit sign stands
Ever vigilant.
The trees breath fresh air through the
White blinds we pull down
together; crisp delicious oxygen that
soars through our lungs like mineral water.

By the table. Where the Thai noodles
sweat their salty scents and
natural perfumes; our favourite
Smells and tastes. The cards slap down loud
In the midst of the crowded black wood,
and they steal our breath with laughter.

In the basement. Where the cold air Sleeps
and the quiet dominates. Where we
Sit in the couches that swallow us
Whole, and where we so
Often whisper to the walls.

But over all these places, your lungs.
Where your breath lays serene
with a rabble of lazy butterflies, and is
the home behind your pink gates.
Your lungs, where I steal my breath from
With both hands on your face, steady,
Unwavering.

We saw ourselves ten years from now,
In the people that you sat for;
Their house was full of things we like
And lots of punk and rock lore.
They both had tats and funny hair, and
Loved all the stupid movies,
At three and one he was young,
And she was still a beauty.

The best part though wasn't that
We saw what we'll most be into,
But that you assumed that ten
Years from now, I'll still be allowed
      to love you.