If I hug you tighter, will I imprint you in my arms?
So I can carry you with me,
past the heavens,
past the rain,
past the pain.

I’ll hold your every ache on my back,
till I turn to cosmic dust.
When I seize to exist,
is the only time you can leave me in the mist.

I know that’s selfish of me,
but you I truly need.
Don’t forget you’re the one who told me my mind plays tricks on me.
You’re the one who told me to go grow on my own.

You said you’d always be there,
and I’m not letting you go,
before I let go.

One day we’ll shine down with the stars together,
and join the sun feeding all your favorite roses,
but till that day the soils are our home,
no matter where the other goes.

i could be that girl
whose voice is low and melodic
and coats your mouth with
acacia honey
whose eyes are the color
and depth of
midnight
whose presence is thick like
new york summers
rosy like
los angeles in early spring
if i braid flowers into my hair
if i write enough poems
if i learn to show the skin of my essence
but remain an abyss—
i will stop making art
when i become it

i do not speak your name
i cannot even whisper it
instead, i hide it in my dreams
under my sheets
beneath a sky that sees all
but does not burn my skin
do you ever wonder
what the moon is thinking?
does she gaze down solemnly and see
a fading opus
or a symphony simply tightening its strings
for the final act?
do you think it makes her sad
to see the greens replaced
with soot and plaster
the seas rising to meet her
with an apocalyptic kiss?
the falling tide
the slow recession
reminds me that
she keeps our secrets
but i think it breaks her heart

Photograph

I looked at a face
no longer there.
A frozen smile,
familiar and warm.
Once young,
now old.
Gone with time and
long forgotten.

Eyes lingering on  
pasty ink
paled by rays of sun.

Cradling a frame of a
foregoing time,
fingertips brushing
against a landscape once familiar,
now faded.

At times I wake in dreams.
At times I’m the observer.
At times I don’t remember.

There was a time waking felt like nothing.
There was a time living was observing.
There was a time days were black.

Time walks on.
Time will move its legs and drag you across the floor.
Time won’t look back and tell you things were missed.
Time is merciless.

This time I’ll fill my eyes with color.
This time the black will come alive.
This time I’ll live.
This time I’ll wake.