I was immediately drawn to her.

She looked like you--if you hadn't come from a good family that is.  Inked from head to toe, and not the ink of someone whose identity is wrapped up in how others see them, but in a desperate attempt to express themselves to the world.

The same hips, the same nape, the same thighs, the same eyes..

No.

The eyes were different.

There were no pretensions or Self-Righteous *******.  There was no desire to use everyone around her until they were used up

She simply existed, and it was beautiful.

We were better lovers, better partners, and better friends than you ever allowed us to be.

She never yelled at me for expressing my opinion, or talking about why I might be upset.  She listened, and considered, and talked.

In the end, it didn't last

Because

She looked like you.

Because

I allowed you to break me

Again.

Glancing down at the hole in his chest
he realizes he knew it was hurricane season
he just thought he was impervious to her winds

again.

I see you.
 
Lying there just a few
feet from me, the
malaphor of us, derisive, mocking,
screaming at me from
the air above our heads,
the same air that lies heavy

pregnant

with all of the things we've
said to each other in this room

but you
don't see this

I glance at the curve of your hip
I question my resolve
I check and recheck my mental
list of how far I'm willing to
compromise and if it would be worth it

but you
don't feel this

I kissed your forehead, you took my hand;

you wouldn't let go.  I sat there and
gently caressed your arm, wanting only
to hold you, but you have poisoned
yourself tonight and it would be wrong.

You fell asleep, and still held on to my hand.

I sat with you a moment longer, smiling and silently weeping at the same time.

You wouldn't let me leave yet again,
even in your sleep.

In the light we can be seen.

The darkness is safe, so I still hold your hand.

This is a love song;

This is a requiem.

The history of us is scarred into the topography of our sleepy little town

You know the one that has delusions of grandeur.

Hidden places where we learned the ins and outs of each other in a way that only new lovers can.

I've been traveling this sleepy little town again and the thing I've come to realize is this:

I used to come to these places to feel close to you.

The concrete abutment on the edge of a man made lake

The ruined foundation of an old restaurant

The stone table where we sat in the dark and I reminded you that some things didn't need to be photographed

You laughed at this but I came back and took a picture anyway.

Now they're just places,
waiting on

another idealistic young couple

whose whispers echo

. . .always and forever. . .

When forever is really just the next distraction away.

i had a broken toy box full of broken toys

flotsam and jetsam of a childhood
filled with playthings shattered and forgotten

in later years I would open that dusty
chest filled with dusty remnants of happier times and weep
for the friends I had left behind

shattered chunks of preformed plastic that
kept me safe when
barely out of diapers my Nuclear Family went

nuclear

lead paint and lawn darts
loose pieces and lost innocence

i learned the value of love through
spending time with cast off friends

i learned the value of respect through
seeing the pieces of the stickers that I
tore off my spider-man helicopter immediately

after

my mother and father in their last
act of love as a couple spent hours
placing them exactly as

instructed

i did not learn that one day i would
be a dusty old cast off toy in someone elses
box of broken pieces

in that world
toys are replaced before their

time

broken not by love and use but by throwing
them against the wall in a tantrum looking for
the next

shiny

new

thing

sweat and smoke obscured
photographs color my memories of the
fleece blanket where you

****** me

as the heavens exploded above us

the burrs that won't wash out no
matter how many times i
try

they stab me to remind me of what I've always known. 

The things we love **** us all eventually.

she hides her sadness with
chemicals and the next

John

Doe

between her thighs and her
painted smile

evidence of last night stained
on the
sheets she wears around

her atrophied heart

as she carves another vaporous hash
mark on the last available
patch of

bare
skin