The earth shatters again
and I,
believe too much in fate, I believe.
Quiet now, he walks in.
My Charlie Boy.

He is writing of me pretty words
everlasting
an ugly girl, a *****
I love you so much I am worried it will be my demise,
My Good Charlie Boy.

I found the letters,
and I am not so bitter,
but Grey, he is.
Not Mine, are you, Charlie Boy?

My lust for the man.

Charlie died that night.
His beautiful ****** face,
the kindness of strangers far too profound
for they all said a gun was no way to go,
for my Dear Charlie Boy.

Take that candle
from the step of the door,
for too much light is there
in these bed chambers
to which
your affection
I all but owe.
Would it be
so wrong to love
you in the dark?
Here,
there is nothing but soul to love.
When the face
and the body
are but planet to all
and I am left to love
double crossed sticks in the ground
what else will I adore?

So,
remove that metal plate
from the step of the door.
Let it melt away!
Take it's harsh light to tomorrow!
Leave me with today
in which
I shall love you more
with every inch of darkness
that buries this room
and lets my affection
sprout from within.

We were in the kitchen the night you told me. You said, nonchalantly, as you always have done, you said 'I like this life just fine'. I thought about this for ages the way one can feel a lover's hip cupped in the palm of their hand for hours after the encounter. Now, perhaps you meant when you were little, and I did not know you. There are stories of you running, cherub faced and limitless, through a sunflower field in dungarees with ***** shins and muddy faces; playing like one of the boys. Back when people used to tell you you looked just like your mother and she would squeeze your small hand tighter. You were her one grasp on this frightening universe. Perhaps, you have came to the reasonable conclusion she is proud of you. Maybe, instead, you were thinking of this house. This small red build up in Manchester where we have built our life and where the foundations of our affection derive from such purity. We will raise children and die in these halls, happy and old, knowing our love was the chief beauty of my entire existence. I even gave some thoughts to those nights in Greece where you were drunkenly,  and magically, dancing with waiters until caramel sunrise brought you my way. I asked you the next morning what you meant, you smiled sleepily and kissed both of my cheeks with a hazy mouth. 'You love me in this life', you said, 'and such is all I have ever wanted in this world'.
So yes, I love you in this lifetime, and all my other lifetimes. I love you forever and shall adore you just as ferociously in the eternal falsification of our afterlife together. If there is ever any doubt, I wish to spend the rest of my life by your side and then whatever happens next is ours too. If I can, then I will....

But, I like this life just fine.

Lately,
I can't stop thinking about angels.
Where do i look first?
i search the closet of my old bedroom,
it smells like Bel Air in the summertime,
i come wearing frilly dresses,
dancing with gorgeous men thrice my age.
If i want Icarus,
i am told i will find Him at
the closest part of the sun that is not the sun itself
and yet,
i cannot name of any astronauts who have seen heaven.
oh, Angel.
My feather winged love.
My heart is weeping from the magic of it all,
and i
thinking You.

It is hardly long in life
before we learn
from our fathers
and our mothers
and so many hard done-to-lovers
That some goodbyes
are just bigger than others.