That broken eggshell,
smaller than the thumb that rests in my palm.
In a place where baby's breath grew,
quiet as linen sheets, peaceful as psalms.
Remember when skin scraped as child fell.
I knew that street, those callused feet
all too well.

I felt my soul was sealed up in that rotting tomb,
and now where had it gone?
With the ceramic pieces littered from her ghostly womb.
Hazy summer days I spent wrong.
Never thought, love passed on so soon.

I let it crinkle beneath the leather of my shoe
walk so gently on eggshells when I'm with you.
Have you any idea what you do?
hand me your tender moments, and gentle kisses
so few.

While I trace my fingers along my own body
until I am numb once more,
you are softly smiling
in the shade of an old cypress tree
creeping up her front door.

You would sit out and soak;
still refuse to see the rain.
Live out those dreaded summers
from the lonely view of a rusted windowpane.

I played house
while you played my Daddy's games
guilt and trip ugly words from your mouth
still, by night, to call my name
when the sky turned to narcotic dust.
So I sketch constellations of us,
ones where, about each other, we feel the same.

Felt so long like Eros sat in prison,
let my blood pale from crimson.
Until you cast your shadow to my sun
made of all sweet smelling things and neurolysin.
Undid my braid
every tangled knot, and auburn strand; one by one.
I could not define safety, until with you I laid
and showed, to my temple, the steel of gun
see now, even fear is manmade
as the legs of fate's circle on run.

Do you know what it is to feel complete
and still sing the lonely song of sailors?
As your darling walks with slow feet
what thoughts of me, will you savor?
Would never need to see another sky - by makers
so long as I could look into your eyes so blue,
so sweet.
I wish I could say I love you
but I am so new and weak.
So I sit, and stir, and tear up papers;
wait another rosy day for you to speak.
I wish I could say I love you
and you would repeat the words, caught between cheek.

I want to touch you until my hands lose grip and meaning,
and we've lost the world we thought to be seeing.
Til' from my palm,
gone,
the creases of fortune,
the mangle of time.
I want to love you,
so true and so hard
even our kisses start to rhyme.
Wordlessly plead,
your worship, your prurience,
your where and when.
The ache of my silent needing
dripping on down your chin.