Nightly, she mirrored his skin
with her hands pressed
to the places considered sin
when not properly dressed.

Connected dots with kisses
on his back, arms, lips;
the things she misses
are ghosts on **** ships.

Soft skin lotions her bones
soothing the stinging insults, raw
by his words in harsh tones,
like snapping the straps of her bra.

Retching over the rim of a toilet bowl,
how I was ever intimate with porcelain.
How or where I began is a misplaced origin.

He got me higher than I’d ever been before,
a relational swing, I dug into the unsteady gravel;
hours passed before my guard began to unravel.

***** never followed us to the park that day,
and he didn’t blink – even while we were liable –
as he rolled a fat blunt out of a page from the Bible.

Hurry waitress to the lackluster pancakes of the restaurant, your fingers smelling from its bacon.
Past my dingy silverware, vacuous plates, a cup of dead coffee grounds, your watered eggs. Your hair-tie snapped like a bomb exploding on the cover of a paperback Hiroshima. Let us go, waitress, and learn all of the reds in that sunset. The crimson sun hovers over deep cornflower waves. The ocean’s mist blinds us from ketchup-smeared napkins fallen onto waterlogged tabletops. A disaster zone you hope to be rescued from through an exit sign door.

3.12

For no one particular,

I can only assume that you feel like love. Rather, your
fleece under my palms, like soft summer sand, burns.
But I love that and therefore must love you.
There’s anger running off my tongue, too cold. It’s
March, and I am not a fan of this, of you.


3.21

Went for a run on a projected-to-be beautiful day,

The sky rained angry. Though the hail did not last long,
it only seemed to pelt my face when I thought of you. Even the
sky pushes me forward. The flowers you gave me last week have died.

I didn’t even forget to water them.


4.8

To the one I now love less,

Admiring many new beards passing through
the line at the coffee shop this morning. From here,
even squinting, none of them resemble you. This
is satisfying. One orders an extra shot of espresso. Strong. I
think I have moved on.


4.9

A guy in line,

Your sport coat and sling bag hold you together well.
Elegant glue I do not often find around this part of town.
I am window-shopping. I haven’t worked in a week,
and even then I couldn’t afford you.

4.16

Eavesdropping,

I ordered an Earl Grey.
“It’s no big deal,” the barista said in some northern dialect.
I don’t belong in this conversation, but at least I am listening.
That’s what you wanted, right? Earl Grey. No big deal. Bite marks
on my tongue grow deeper still.