Regret melts slow,
dripping from the side.
It feels like skin being tugged against,
the impression left from
my hand to yours.
The anticipation of being patient
burns and flickers,
excitedly proud to be included.

Your back, the wick that stands straight,
slowly curving,
stretching, releasing tension.
Your legs wrapped in mine.
If you were to blow too hard,
the flame would whoosh,
leaving nothing but a puddle.
The people we were
staring, looking at the mess.

The rest of my strength
supports your arch,
the curled wick that's grown tired
against my chest.
No matter how you lay,
I am comfortable in your wild stretch.
Sleep surrounding both of us—
I have your back, your heart.
The crisp edges of your hair tangled
On my head

The smoke of desire soots and breathes,
dried in a puddle of wax

i stay out of it more than i used to,
painting pictures on a metaphorical canvas.
anything is possible if i want to
find something that catches on,
leave everything else that matters
and turn away from it all.

i have great conversations with myself,
drawing memories like a string to wrap and tighten.
i live and die keeping it to myself
with every thought that spills through
like gasoline, begging for a lighter.
i stay out of it more than i used to.

One day, you'll calm down,
Look back on your story as if through a stranger's eyes.
A quiet smile will escape, a gentle shake of the head—
Life, after all, is but a fleeting dream.

Someday, you'll release today’s struggles,
With only a whisper of regret in the air.
Clarity will dawn, illusions will fade,
And the weight of the world will dissolve in stillness.

In that moment, you'll find the truth—
Not in gaining, nor in losing,
But in the quiet harmony of a peaceful heart.

Call it women’s intuition—
but she knows the power of silence,
how to bend you to her will,
whether she’s calm or not.
Eventually, you’ll crack,
if given enough time.
Trying to figure out what’s wrong,
following her from room to room,
asking question after question—
whether you’re crazy now
or crazy later,
it’s soon to happen.
Oddly enough,
the various cigarette and liquor companies
profit from her silence—
the way, even at your best,
it still finds a way to get your attention.
Even if you manage to block her out,
bringing it up at another time is just an argument.
It’s best to take a minute and get yourself together.
no matter what you do.
You can’t trust the way she stares,
you can’t trust the way she laughs.
It’s all a trap.
You won’t realize it until it’s too late.
Through her messiness,
through her beauty,
through her chaos,
She just wants to see how you’ll react,
if you’ll reach for her,
even when she’s right in front of you

On the other side
The grass is always greener;
Never satisfied

You handed over the pieces
of your life without hesitation
your breath, your time,
your love,
because that’s what you thought love was.
Not once did you think to keep
anything for yourself.
You reached in and revealed
these pieces of yourself over time,
wrapping them in your skin,
your time, your love.

I didn’t need all the pieces
that you gave me
those you gave because you thought it was love.
I won’t let you do it.
I cannot.
Regardless of how much you give,
if I am hungry, I will not take
without replenishing what is given.
If I am thirsty, I will not bathe
in what is excess.

I, too, will hand over the pieces
of my life,
because, as hard as it is to accept,
the truth is we do not truly own anything.
just enough to feel the space
where the years seem to fly by.
Something that connects us both.
You handed over the pieces
of your life,
and I promise to care for and love them,
because I believe it’s something you just do.
Just as I believe in welcoming you
to live and breathe in the pieces of my life.
I too will live, breathe, and drown
in you

A shadow lingers, heavy and cold,
Never a story of joy retold.
Tablets lined in a fragile row,
In their silence, what do they know?
Dreams dissolve in a bitter hue,
Emotions dulled, both false and true.
Promises whispered: "You’ll feel whole,"
Relief bottled, sold to the soul.
Every smile feels borrowed, thin,
Shaky hands hide storms within.
Still, we swallow, day by day,
A search for light in skies of gray.
No cure, just balance, a fragile dance,
To numb the ache, one last chance.

In the time it took me to start over
I died by your side with closure
on my self-imposed solitude
from every soul in a fighting mood
with inherited axes to grind
in line
to use the men’s bathroom
during the last game,
immune to the toxic byproducts
of extended cab pick-up trucks
circling the drain of
made up
settling sentiment trickling
through the air connecting
you lungs with mine,
an irredeemable line
in the low tide sand
and
inescapable memory holes
fret the yet again brethren
sending their regards
while they take up arms
against mended fences
wrestling
with a cost,
the interest,
and late fees eternal
grown from the infernal
jest we let foment
into rent checks and
a stale hex
revealed next
to nothing
in a book I did not write
that you read all the same