I kept the pages of your heart
Bookmarked
Knowing that one day I’d lose my place
In them
And that you might
Open that book again, and show me where I fit

The sky above the sea misses the water
once the sun rises, and the skyline sits between them, and I miss you like that.

And, I miss you like the half-blazing cigarette misses those
warm lips
and the breath behind them, that would come in sharp, teasing drags
because the tobacco is nothing without that breath, and that ember goes out

and I think that without you
I might go out, too.

I am the imbalance
The flaw
I am the ladder in the stocking
I am the beam in the floor that creaks
The wilted leaf of spinach hiding in the crisp salad bowl

I am the ballerina’s crooked back
The tiger’s unfinished stripe
The last, crustless piece of pie
That no one really wants
Someone polite will eat it
And he will feel unsatisfied
Wanting more

But I cannot give you the crust
And you will feel unsatisfied
And I will feel helpless
I am the spiderweb someone has walked through
I am the space under the door that lets the wind in
The bike whose chain has fallen off

I am the space between us.

Cupid’s ***** must be candy hearts and colored cards
His rough night must end in heaving twisted over the toilet bowl, boxes of chocolates and caramels dumping into its porcelain chamber
Naked, he probably limps into his canopied room
Pulling shut the purple curtains, climbing heavily into his bed of roses
Head throbbing, beautiful blonde curls drenched in sweat
Waking up soaked in fallen tears; flower petals

it rains, and the gutters pound,
and the streets lie down
under that steady rhythm
that finger tapping belly patting rhythm

and we close our eyes
and the window sills get wet because we
left the windows open and that rain
that rhythm only wants to come in
and be our rhythm and sing its song

as our hands keep those same beats
on our bodies like the rain on streets

You tasted bitter in my dream
     When we kissed
     Tongue to lips
You tasted stronger than you seem
     Chest to chest
     Hips to hips
All my writing recently
Has displayed some form of sexuality
      And I think it fits.

A brooding mess
Of bones and flesh
The caressing tide, a soft set of fingertips
Eyes cast down
Face Fixed in Frown
   but, the curve
of a warm body and another warm body
   heals.

That curve carries
and gentle waves find their way
back to my body
                       and yours.