You offered me your body,
I offered in return:

A tuna fish sandwich,
A nice piece of carnelian,
Maybe a book or two about odd things
like death by electrocution or Leonardo da Vinci
or the history of the upright bass,
Endless records,
Enough jazz to paint the world blue,
My mouth forming the shapes of notes,
A breath from my own lungs,
The scarf which was lovingly knit for me
by my one remaining friend,
Lipstick, bright red and smooth,
Feathers from a hawk that I found by the road,
Dried pink roses from a corsage,
Two baby teeth in a container that once held film,
Hair shorn with a dull kitchen knife,
A collar of cracked burgundy leather,
Sachets smelling faintly of lavender,
A mirror which was cracked on my thirteenth birthday,
One lace glove.

Why did you leave?

Slamming doors are our earthquakes
they are the faults that quake
and when they shift
I can feel our world quiver.

The home we've built
is almost shambles
the plaster lining our walls
crumbles and becomes the dust on our shelves.

The fights we share
are the shifting foundation,
where cracks stagger our steps
and cause us to share blows
dancing a silhouette
of arguments.

Pieces of people
that we never used to be--
are the imaginary characters to our fairy tales  
because there is no way
we could see either of as beautiful--
when we are only seeing
an outline of who we used to be.

Caricatures so misshapened
that they are etched into our bedroom
the sleeping place we used to share our dreams
and instead we scream our nightmares

collapsing from exhaustion
only to cuddle with extra pillows
building forts on each side of the bed
to at least have something comfort us.  

Our harmony finally makes it's ******
it is not the smash of earthquakes
but the sickening silence of loneliness
because we've become isolated.

no longer stomping out natural-disastres
instead we accept our indifference
and we quietly leave the door open--
because there's no need to close doors
in a house we no longer live in.

I’ll do you like your
Eyes
Ask me to,
As relentlessly
As your
Smile’d
Wish, come every our
Encounter.

I’ll do you, like the –
Plastic, porcelain, and
Polymer
Scenery –
Holography and
Hidden drawers,
Once a sin and
Twice a cross.

I’ll do you, as
I’m, and a first,
If only an
“Object.”
I know it, but you don’t.
You love it, but I won’t,
Because you’d only burn,
Come knowing I’m, “taken.”

My dearest.
Words cannot describe how much I long to be in your embrace.
Your warmth that envelops me
And your softness.

Your tantalizing smell of clean laundry
And painted wood.
Your caress engulfs me,
Filling my dreams with peace.

I hate when I have to kiss you goodbye in the mornings
Walking out the door
With a final longing gaze at your beauty and snugness

But I can remember that you are always waiting for me
When I walk into the room
And dive into the warmth of the covers
And return to you
My bed

Our souvenirs.
In a little box I've stowed—
a secluded veneer.
A lot of times you bestowed
The prettiest things.
A deck of just kings,
Lilac seeds.
An anklet
not a ring
with rolled paper
as beads.
A painted sycamore tree
and a carved partridge.
A butterfly, unfree
and a rusty London bridge.
Many more, I have burnt
A simple jewelry box,
a medical syringe.
A vintage, whimsical clock,
ripped pages, a stockage.
But this last one, I gave away
It wasn't mine for a keepsake.
The most special,
an epilogue; crucial—
the last smiling
photograph of us.
the last reeling
scene of us.
It was candid
it was real.
But look at what you've done.
Look at how all these objects—
merely flashes and ashes—
are perpetually gone.
Look at how you never
talked about leaving
but did anyway.

You say you want a woman
Yet you seem to want less,
A female who seeks attention
Through her flawless appearance.
A picture you like
Based on her womanly assets
Baby this image is imperfect
You can't see your flawed mindset.
You want a woman who loves herself
Yet has no self respect
I don't understand your logic
It sounds like you want an object.

Twisted water
gives labels
                           of light

Black          Flat

Swaying walls take flight:

Stone upon Stone upon Stone
Trees

never seen to dance dance
till quarter to me
Yesterday still

it seems

I keep little things
Close at hand.
I keep them to remind myself
that this darkness is temporary
that things will get better.
Little notes written by a friend
something as simple as
"I love you"
or "keep your head up"
I keep fortunes
with quotes I admire
quotes that remind me
that it's okay to not be okay
that it's ok to fall apart,
but only if you're strong enough
to put yourself back together.
I keep little things like ticket stubs
reminders of dates long past.
I keep these things to remember
but also to help myself forget,
Forget my sadness for a while.