The drunk guy and his drunk girl both sat
on the concrete near the dumpster along
with their oil stained dog.
The guy had stacked up some cardboard
for his girl to rest her backside on.
The dog drank cool water from an old tin.

The guy always greeted me with a tobacco
stained smile and a ***** open palm wave.
His girl was always drunk even when he obviously wasn’t.
Maybe that was his way of keeping her around.
Sacrifice a bottle for the company of her.

The dog  appeared fainthearted and
a bit skittish but his tail always wagged
at the sight of a stranger.
A hopeful wag, a heartening gesture.
One that said he still had hope that one
of these strangers would one day take
him home and away from the life
his fate had cast upon him.

I always took the time to greet the
drunks and the dog.
The guy’s face had that worn leather
look with his bold Native features
and his deep mocha colored skin.
His spiel was always the same he'd
praise my coat and my truck,
the dog would always wag his agreement.

I made sure to always leave them with
a fresh bottle of some cheap wine or
even cheaper *****.
A pack of GPC’s
and a stick of jerky for the dog.

The guy always took the gifts without standing.

He smiled and his drunk woman smiled
and the ***** dog wagged his ***** tail.
He would applaud me as I walked away.
Which for some reason caused me to
feel a bit less instead of feeling better.

Their joy was real.
***** back alley drunken joy.
While mine was only a front.

This all took place before all of this.
At a time when I thought
I was in love.

Her eyes are like a bowl of cereal:
swirled with sweetness, soft but cold.
She lays in the center of a cobblestone intersection,
as tires bounce like knuckles off of teeth.
And ruby ribbons run from her mouth,
heading down the street that breathes south.
The sky above her stretches like notes from a guitar,
spitting acid rain tunes that'll turn into the pitter patter of a musical monsoon,
washing her body away from my sight and yours,
cleansed from our memories and the city floors.

I can smell it.
Like the musty wind before the devastating hurricane, I can smell it.
I can smell the sadness and the tears from late night musings.
I knew the entire thing is doomed from the beginning.
But like a fool who's used to believing, I held on.
It was too slippery.
I lost my grip.

worship me at 3am only to repent at dawn
make 'i love you' sound like a hymn
whisper my name as if my body's a cathedral and you're in the confessional
let my lips carry the weight of your sins
you told me you weren't religious outside of my bed
so let me be your goddess and guide you to paradise
relish in my garden of eden, where no fruit is forbidden
drink from my fountain of life, for you are mine

I sit in bed,
Contemplating my life,
Wondering where else can I go?
Where else can I hide?

You will always be there,
No matter how hard I try,
Because I'm actually looking in the mirror ,
Looking at my reflection and my life.

close your eyes to inhale my
flame. I like your November smile.
teeth are good for making memories
on the skin, the neck, the thigh.
here is my heartbeat- my November
heartbeat I have built for you.
never close enough is good
enough for me. our chests light
up after a long period of sobriety.
you and I are a complex state of mind.
my mouth is filled with your name.
let me hold onto your shoulders while I
pull myself back into the space where
you and I are supposed to reside.
I will always be waiting.