I watch,
And I pull different pieces
Of her out the bowl.
Somewhat tangled and a bit messy.
I twist her all up even more,
And put her in my mouth.
The steam rising fresh from her.
My mouth catches her,
All of her.
Hot, slightly salty.
I love the way she makes me feel.
Eventually, her ways will become mine.
She isn't just some mess in a bowl.
And although I am hungry,
The pieces of her that I drag to my mouth. Are moderate.
I've never tasted anything like this
Before.
She isn't just a quick bite
Of temporary need.
My tongue, my gut,
My soul loves this tangled goodness.
She is my safe space

I don't want to miss
How good your skin feels
In the dark,
When no one else is around
Except our breath.
And we can breathe.

Opinions are just that.
But at the same time, I know,
I don't want to miss out.

I know how bad it feels to show up
Late, and "goodbye" is the last thing
You want to hear.
I don't want to miss out on the
Dark parts of you,
The parts of you that fit
Between the empty space of my
Fingers.
No matter how dark,
There's always a place for you.
It doesn't replace how soft you
Actually are.
It's not for the world to see
They can see whatever they want to.
When it comes to you,
I am not the world.
And I don't want to miss out

The moon swallows the sun,
And for a second,
Everything becomes that much darker.
Nothing moves. Silence looks around,
Confused, looking for a sound.

Her lips touch mine,
And the world stops.
I felt my breath leave my body.
I felt her body through her lips.
My throat the only thing that stops.
My heart spilling over into her mouth.

The silence around leans closer,
Looking for a sound. Any smack,
Any slurp we could give to feed
Its hunger.
We kissed like everything in us
Filled the gaps between the stars.
When it was over,
Only a handful of people could tell you
What an eclipse looks like

I am waiting on an angel.
I’ve paced around in wait
and feel no closer to when I first started
pacing.
no call, no signs of anything that smells like perfume.
she promised she'd be here.
maybe she's stuck in traffic,
or maybe she's the kind of angel
that doesn’t keep promises.

the last time I prayed I asked for a roof
over my head.
it took a while. it took an awfully long time.
my hands were shaking.
just when I was about to give up.
I got my house.
I have that same feeling.
god knows that I am waiting,
no matter how bad my hands are shaking.

still, I wait.
I don’t know how wings feel against skin,
or how soft they are,
but somehow, I believe she is near.
if she is not.
I do believe that something beautiful is possible.
even if angels have a sense of humor

I smell the wild on you.
How the snow is caked in your fur.
When the night falls, what does
It offer besides survival.
And the means to be something
besides human.
We're stuck here somewhere where
The earth has broken.
And the cold envelopes everything it
Touches.
You stand there in the snow
Teeth bared.
Not afraid to go at it once more.
I've grown tired, so very tired.
Your eyes burn the snow.
That fierce longing to stay alive.
What else does the night offer,
We've consumed pretty much
everything else except each other.
And I am tired of fighting.
Nothing pretty survives out here alone,
In the dark.
Together, you and I nestled in each other's warm.
When hunger subsides.
We'll find it in each other

Love is not a circus.
Still, I watched her perform.
I watched her spin around in circles
And pretend to fall.
I watched her paint her face red
And smear her clown mouth.
She laughed at things that weren't
funny, often mixing up the punch line.
Still, I watched her perform.
I watched while she loved another,
A man that didn't know she was there.
The audience could tell.
Any of us could.

None of the balloons that she carried
Seemed to float,
Pretending to trip and fall into our hands. The smeared makeup around her mouth twisted into a smile she didn't recognize.

After the show, she asked, if she really did fall would I catch her?
One of her smiles telling the ultimate truth, Smeared left then off right.
Like she brushed against something.
The start of the next show.
Those ill-fitting clothes weren't so ill
After all.

She fell towards his arms,
Hoping that he'd catch her.
Love is not a circus,
Although their stay is temporary.
Painted faces tell no tales.
Not all injuries heal the same

Late into the night,
a fire rages on,
devouring everything it sets its sight on.
memories, splinters, concreate and rubble.
still, it wants more,
nibbling on silence, the dark of the night
itself.
its tongue stretches and laps,
its stomach nowhere near full.
it twists and turns, ignoring
the tug of its shadow.
it wants what it wants,
regardless of how it tastes.
its fingers constantly reaching out,
leaving a scorched trail everywhere it’s been.

here I sit, watching the fire
grow in size and height,
hoping that by some twist of fate,
it finds what it truly hungers for.
until then, nothing or no one will be able
to put it out.
I too have tired myself out,
opening the refrigerator,
like you will magically appear.

We live in between the break
Of things,
Mostly broken and curled up
Into each other.
The glow of the screen,
The result of a million jolts
Crammed into one place.
I suppose we do need things
To spend our money on.
Things that we can add to our dreams.
Especially if it doesn't interrupt
What we've waited all day to watch.

For two broken pieces
Sitting together on the couch,
That's alright.
Of all the times you've appeared
In my dreams,
I cannot tell you what perfume
You had on,
Or what designer brand you wore
From any of the commercials
I've seen.
But when our show goes on break
Or whatever movie we're watching
goes off,
The best advertisement I've seen
Is the way you look at me

We're but two drunks laughing in the rain. Memphis is a city like any other.
The rain falls and slinks into the potholes. Whatever secrets that are hidden surface and shine with every drop that falls.

What's the fun of staying dry? The rain mixed with the sweat of our skin.
When you kiss me, I feel the beads of rain fall harder, my heart a puddle that catches every drop, caught in wet embrace. We may be drunk, me more so than you. Even if lightning slices through the clouds, and the rain begins to come down even harder.

What's the fun of staying dry? Every street leads somewhere, even if the sky tears itself open and the world becomes a blur. I am a drunk fool, laughing outside in the rain with you

Call me,
Even if it's 3 a.m.,
And I am dead to the world.
Every fire pit eventually has to go out,
But even those cold ash embers
Are kept warm by the lively ones
That have yet to go out.

If you get lost
And the surrounding starts
To look unfamiliar,
Call me.
Even moths need sleep.
I promise you're not disturbing
Me.

We'll find another pit to hang around.
If you get lost and don't feel
That warmth around you.
Don't you go getting lost on me,
I'll be that lonely stubborn ember
That refuses to go out
One that keeps you warm
Until you feel safe,
And we both fall asleep
There isn't a dark too deep
That we can't explore
Even if it's 4 a.m.