ships sailing;  
night sky navigating along  
divergent constellations  
that plotted our courses.  

meeting only where our stars crossed,  
or collided  
in sparks.  
sharing ports for a few years,  
a summer,  
a night.  
only to weigh anchor  
as the sky shifted,  
following after the next coordinate  
on our charts.  

it has been so long  
since I have seen your sails  
tilted and headstrong towards  
my waters,  
since the stars on our charts  
found an overlapping point.  
I wonder if we are still sailing  
under the same sky.  

or perhaps you are dry docked  
having forsaken the sea  
for shore,  
and left behind the lilt  
of the tides.  

whispers of you  
on the waves,  
as I hoist my sails  
once more.

there is a part of me that nobody knows  
except you  

I keep it under lock
strapped down and chained  
starved, pale and gaunt  

to quiet it  

to silence it from calling out in the still  

to **** it if I could  
and be done with it  

only for you to undo me with a whisper  
with words in a line,  
with a memory  

that throws off my desperate restraints  
lays waste to my barricades  
and breathes fire into me.  
making the chaos so full and loud  
inside me  
that it suffocates me  
and i cannot breath  
or cry out  
or find relief  
except to surrender.  

a beautiful unraveling  
of skin and bone  
that strips me down to my soul and fragments  
to give everything that I am to you.  

with a whisper you could tear me down to atoms  
you are my beautiful destruction

I still have it, the CD you made for me  
when we were young and dumb,  
and mostly honest

each song you selected  
hand written so carefully  
in fine tip marker  

I listen to the songs like each one is for me  
your words sung in someone else’s voice  
at least the parts about love  
the parts that I wish were us  

sometimes it hurts  
and sometimes it doesn’t  
and sometimes it feels like a hole in my chest  
like right now

it makes me wish I was your glory box
but instead you’re my sour times

I held myself to you,  
Desperate to fit to your curves  
And push myself into your gaps.  
I hid at your center
When you were mostly edges,  
Still filling in the spaces around you.  
All your pieces jumbled and piled together  
Waiting for you to dive into them  
And fit each fragment along your lines
Piecing together your parts.  

Each piece betraying me more.  
Calling me out as an imposter  
As I tried to hide my edges from you,  
Carve off my corners and make me round.  
Fearing as your shape emerged
You would realize I didn’t fit  
Within your borders,
Discarding me for a piece that did.  
And I i would see your puzzle  
Complete    
Without me.

time, the great unraveller,  
unwinding things into  
eternity with heartless determination.  
I have seen it lay rust along  
affections and arteries so  
that neither may flow or pump,  
but i always thought us, or  
hoped us, more rare  

that the constellations hung in your eyes  
would never dim for me,  
but guide me as they always had  
to home  
to you  
to us.  

perhaps you never dimmed  
only the constant erosion by minutes and hours  
chipped away my veneer, and the truth  
of me has made mutiny of your affections.  

when did I become someone you sleep beside  
and not with?  
the inches between us stretched out  
like country roads in winter, belying our beginning.  
my fingertips and your skin thick as thieves  
adventuring over the lines of your horizon  
each curve and mound and crevice  
the hot breath of exploration panting on our lips  

I can only fabricate excuses for so long,  
brushing off your brush offs,  
the turned shoulder,  
the recoil of my hand in the small of your back,  
the betraying hesitancy in your lips that  
wounds me like an unpracticed lover.  
when did you exchange your desire  
for obligations, wicked and sour?  

you blame it on chemistry  
hormones and pheromones  
molecules and valence bonds  
breaking apart our marital-structure.  
so I curse science and pray for alchemy  

I'm tired of sleeping  
In bed with you  
alone

you loved a boy  
and he loved you  
though he had loved before  
or at least, had thought himself to love before,
this was wholly of a different kind

the love he had before didn’t feel like this.
true, it had started off with heat and sweaty hands,  
as most loves do,  
but then it lost its brightness and became cold,  
something that ate away at the boy  
and however much the boy offered  
it took and took  
and never gave  
and wasn’t soft or kind

so the boy was left broken  
in more ways than he ever told,
in more ways than he even understood.  

but then you loved a boy,  
a boy who was broken  

and you were good, and beautiful, and true,
and your voice sang a love song that was only for him,  
and your touch made him fear that his heart would break
in the most wonderful way

and the boy loved the girl  
completely  

this love was warm and soft  
and air and breath and life and  
more  

all the boy wanted was to be
consumed by the girl  
just to be closer to her  
so that he was never apart  

and then it was gone.  

and the boy was confused  
because this love hadn’t changed,  
it hadn’t grown dim or dark,  
it was soft and full and fire  
and gone…

and it could not be the girl  
because she loved the boy,  
she had told him
In her honey whispers late into the night.  
the boy knew her words were true  
because she was good and true  
and because she had saved the boy  

then she was gone.  

and the boy was left more broken than before,  
the only thing left in the boys heart  
was the horrible thought, that perhaps  
he was not worthy of love;  
and it was horrible,  
because I believed it to be true

There is a greed inside of me  
an apparition that feeds on pity—  
a desperation that would so casually consign you  
to the same misery  
just so I would not be alone.  

A selfishness that would entwine a piece of me  
so tightly along your threads  
that I could never be unstitched  
from the seams of your patchwork,  
knowing that I could never relieve you of that burden,  
never be more than an incessant itch beneath your soul.  

Because in the quiet, in the dark, I sink  
into the horrible truth, like I am  
swallowed up with the light-  
I will always love you,  
but never love you again.

Because in the quiet of the dark, I sink  
into the horrible truth, like I am  
swallowed up with the light-  
I will always love you,  
but never love you again.  

This unbearable knot,  
assuaged only by the vilest condolences—  
the thought that somewhere,  
you are being swallowed up too.

A sixth sense for cruelty,  
Like you could smell the paper-thin scent of recovery-  
Waiting for me to stand at the world's edge  
Let the tide slide over my toes  
And imagine myself becoming whole  

Cruel - like it was gifted by the gods  
Like you could sense the feeble first-steps of recovery-  
Waiting for me to stand at the world's edge  
Let the tide slide over my toes  
And imagine myself becoming whole  

You look at me like a Greek myth  
Full of serpent-stone, sirens and Aphrodite  
Remind me how easily you twist me  
Around your wicked finger  
Stake me down in your palm like a sacrifice  

Maligned and mangled at the foot of Olympus  
The spent offering, the naive fool-  
I'll stitch myself together in a practiced ritual,  
And wait for you to shatter me  
On your altar again

The board lies still—eight ranks, eight files,
Each square a world, a thousand trials.
Its checkered face, both calm and cruel,
Waits quietly to play the fool.

The stage is set, the players stare,
Each move a hope, each glance a dare.
They chase the crown, a fleeting throne,
Yet play this game so not alone.

The pawns march on with hearts held tight,
Blind to edges of wrong and right.
The knights vault over doubts and ties,
Twisting through paths that mask disguise.

While bishops slide through shades between,
They blur the line of right and mean.
The rooks stand firm with rigid pride,
Their paths cut sharp, no step to slide.

The queen—so fierce, so fast, so grand—
Wields power none can understand.
The king just shuffles, slow and small,
Yet all would die to guard his fall.

But none ask why this prize they seek—
What worth has power if souls grow weak?
They fight for check, they fall for mate,
They crown the skill, yet praise the fate.

But when the game has run its thread,
All lie the same—still, cold, and dead.
No victor’s cheer, no mournful cries,
Just silent echoes, fading skies.

A silent watcher beyond the frame,
Eyes steady, untouched by fleeting game.
He watches rules with endless flight,
The fragile dance of truth and lies.

Unmoved by moves both thrill and blind,
He holds the truth the young can’t find—
That all their struggle, all their pain,
Is but a shadow, not the reign.