We only connect when you cry it seems.
So many different stains on this bed,
and I wish you were here when I was
happy, but not smiling;
Any of the moments that would be
cheaper for sharing,
but stained if you were there, now.
Here, now.

I wonder, (now, and not often)
if those sheets hold more
tears, or *** fluids, or sweat.
I don't dream anymore, however.

I've never had a beautiful dream
about us, and when I did we were
awake
and a long time ago
we shared that common dream.
You don't even feign interest
in me anymore.

You watch me starve and carve myself into
morsels, easily digestible fragments,
and then turn over and, maybe praying,
though we swear we don't believe in god,
that I'll die mad and half naked in your sleep.

Some trees bear flowers and you'd swear
they die in winter and may never blossom again.
They freeze and turn into wonderful spidery things;
fingerbones strewn haphazardly on some streetlight.
Petals that were pink like new flesh,
rotten out of mind and existence.
I wonder what the blossoms become
when the tree sleeps.

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

My fears are simple...
Not shrewd enough or dextrous
My love divine, yes majestic
My purity maintains as my objective
My faith steady in my beliefs
Striving to be worthy at his throne
Virtuous and righteous I will become
My scars swept away with justice and unity
Victory through Him who has created me
Devotion and warmth to those in need
Repenting of my sin in prayer
Kneeling down with compassion and hunger