Matilde, dónde estás? Noté, hacia abajo,
entre corbata y corazón, arriba,
cierta melancolía intercostal:
era que tú de pronto eras ausente.

Me hizo falta la luz de tu energía
y miré devorando la esperanza,
miré el vacío que es sin ti una casa,
no quedan sino trágicas ventanas.

De puro taciturno el techo escucha
caer antiguas lluvias deshojadas,
plumas, lo que la noche aprisionó:

y así te espero como casa sola
y volverás a verme y habitarme.
De otro modo me duelen las ventanas.

Waking up next to you is scary.

And before your vehement self-loathing causes you to interpret this as an insult; I'll explain what I mean as best as I can.

I'm scared because I always wake up before you; and I know that all I'll want to do is watch you.
That's dangerous because it only makes me love you more.
The way you heavily breathe through your mouth as a result of a congested nose, the way the relaxing and contracting of your intercostal muscles cause your small body to bounce up and down in a perfectly rythmatic manner. The way your heartbeat fills the entire room. So much so that I have to susurrate the bed sheets to mask the sound so my unforgetting heart doesn't fall any deeper into the enigma that is you.

Then you wake up.

You look at me with disoriented green eyes and matted brown hair and smile. You smile at me exactly the same way I've been smiling at you for the past ten minutes.

It's scary

Because by that point the clamorous sound of your heart beat is quickly replaced by mine. Sometimes I'm scared that you'll hear it. And you'll know.

I started my healthy diet
just last week.
Was going
to incorporate it
with a daily dose
of Ashtanga & Kundalini.

And wouldn’t you know it,
I pull an intercostal
the very first day
of a new routine.

Now, I’m laid up
with sore ribs, full of fish
& smelling like menthol.

Like lightning
You dance in the darkness
Spreading yourself in all directions
It's hard for me to elude you

I'm captivated
Robbed of my soul
I serve you my blood dripping heart
On a plate made of star fire

I'm sure you have a whole collection
All propped up on dusty shelves
shriveled and dried up
lifeless little beasts

I wonder
Do you ever take them down
And think about the broken rib cages
About the intercostal spaces
Where you pressed your fingers deep

Do you think about the moon
And the stars during the gloaming hours
About the time the night sky covered
all our sins like a blanket

You can't hide from me
I saw your hollow face the night you
hijacked my soul

You ripped into me like a ravenous hyena
Laughing, laughing, laughing
As you left me there to rot.

Your heart will always beat,
With or without my love.

But only you could have shown me
Where I can touch it.

The fifth intercostal space,
Beneath your ****** line.

This sacred place under your breast,
The apex of your beautiful heart.

Now when I find my own,
I can only think of you.

I have a sob stuck
in my lower right lung
it won't (or can't) dislodge
on its own
twisting, dancing, laughing,
stretching, forcing - nothing works.
Little pops and groans as muscles
protest and I along with them
hate moving every which way
but the pressure is mounting
so I keep trying to worm this
little collection of tears
down and away.

I imagine the lobe like
a jacket's third pocket
pressed against my ribs
safe and secret
close to my vest.
Perhaps that's why
it got trapped there
it's warm, feels secure
and near the feeling part
my traitorous heart
so I try coaxing the tears
with sad thoughts and fears
but to no avail
it won't get lost
or maybe it is lost
because sobs should be stuck
in throats
not in lungs
not that my body has ever
done its job right
all mixed up signals
weak muscles
too-old bones
and feelings aren't supposed
to sit in the meat sack
rattling skeleton
clogging arteries
stealing breaths
though my lung's filling fine
despite this new obstruction.

The little sob in my chest pocket
whose zip teeth won't unclench
so my back is up
unsure how to carry this extra weight
without giving out
body caving in
and I'm on my knees
emotionally capped
carrying this orb of sadness
all blue and heavy and wet
it's no surprise the sob
wanted a place to rest
so constant, predictable
expand, release
breathe in, exhale
rhythmic and vital and alive
tapping into that space
a reminder, a grounding
present and here and continuing on
survival mode engaged
motions and habit and back to basics
until I can tap into the memories
the fears or the thoughts
that chased this sob from tear ducts
to ribcage for safe keeping.

When you've been asleep for so long how do you decipher between reality and figments of your subconsciousness?

I wanted to ask the man with the eyes clearer than the intercostal, but every time his hand found the small of my back I too found myself falling in the trance.

You're a sleep walker, you know.

I wish I had such a luxury, the ability to close my eyes and not dwell on the sins I'll never deem forgivable

I think fear is another name for love and you're not scared of a thing.

the trenches you've dug between your skull and your brain are only there because you'd prefer to keep me at arm's length.

I'll run my fingers over the scar on your head and look for other ways in, because you'll never give me the keys to the front door.

The holes around us are filling with salt water you carried back from the ocean last night while I was dreaming you were drowning me.

I can still feel the sea burning my eyes. I want to go back, but you fall in love with places and My love affair is with panic. I'm not convinced you have room in your home for someone like me.

I could be a human truss, but we're both too stubborn to admit when we're in need. I'd rather be broken, than feel whole and watch you break under my weight.

Some say love should be effortless
but as obscene as it sounds, Pat Benatar may have been on the right track with "Love is a Battlefield"
Because loving you was ******.