hyacinth
warm breath on the wind
as her small figure trembling
turns slow, to take humble spins,
feet sweeping softly against land
and in her curves and twists,
and whirls and pivots
each movement
and the air cool on her skin
each movement
her heart grows boisterous,
the thump in her ears,
a tune to lead, to follow again
hyacinth
as she dances
warm breath on the wind

caught, alone, in austere stream
how I sink to sleep, and wake to float
seeking hands from passing boats
and all the while pray
with this maelstrom's theme
fingertips bleed, and scream
it is constant
to stay afloat
it is constant
I am choked,
by undertow
fight to breathe

winter;
wrapped in its solstice, and fallen leaves

sleep

arctic;
melting into trees
feral beast amongst forest

its last ears to somber reprise,
and eyes to the death in the land.

From raw to refined.
A simple word, ill-defined.
Let's not get hung up on semantics,
but instead,
romanticize everything we've ever said;
about love,
about loss,
about life.
Everything is meaningless until it's been applied.

My breath is barbed;
skeletal strings shift into smoke,
drifting into the shadows
as the darkness will choke.

Pearl snow stuffs my skull;
my grandmother in an earthern womb,
sleeps under it all.
A tombstone the last thing we bought--
a report card of her life:
She is with Him in Heaven, In Paradise...
With Him, Without Pain--
is speculation but turns into thought.

The icy steps do not deter me
as I sit on the crooked concrete spine;
speaking to her, hoping the snow
does not make her cold, any more,
'I can stay a while longer...
I do not have to go home, yet.'

-

Eco-friendly light spills from under the door,
forming a pool as yellow as diseased skin.
The brass doorknob is like a girl I once loved:
******* the outside, hollow in the inside,
unable to be moved and okay with it.
Fury from a faucet fills the bathtub
and rings my ears with its intent:
to fill a void and go away when cold.

She lays in the water
the city treats better than us,
wading in a wealth of watermelon wash;
her body flushed from fading flesh,
pores swim and stretch around
cursive carvings, kissing cursed curves--
and I sit upon a bone-white curb,
stirring my finger in the soup of her day;
watching the drain ****, wondering
if she'll, too, drift away.

her fists fit perfect in the slow
rooms of this body
& I'd get so high standing on her knees getting saved by each
fleeting leave in her breathing

let's cross straight & never say it
undress my restless legs
& leave them guessing how far
they'll fall again for you

thighs don't have minds but
mine can't forget
your resting neck, please
spare me the muscle memory;
are we street lights or are we better ?
my feet remember how it felt
running to you
my legs, beg for less bruising
but I think that you're worth it

I won't give up the way I gave in &
I hope you see the difference;
I hope that when the taste fades
you remember what it was made of