my mind is a planetarium
where each memory is a meteorite
and every apology burns like a dying star.

enclosed in the vast celestial stretch of my skull,
planets tend to vanish without the courtesy of a goodbye,
but i'm just happy to have housed them for a little while.

my projector is faulty and sometimes,
the images i try to convey become obscured
("asteroids may be larger than they appear").

i can't help but speak in broken constellations,
and hope that you somehow understand
that i have nothing but the best intentions.

not to mention, i've seen a lot of visitors, though
none have ever stayed for long, after they've surveyed
that i'm nothing more than a bunch of chaotic galaxies.

i rubbed the collection of stardust and debris from my eyes
and to my surprise, found that you hadn't gone anywhere.
instead, you were there, floating through my solar systems.

you've got me orbiting around your finger
like the rings around the sixth planet from the sun.
i come undone a little more with every word you breathe.

my bones are made of moon rock, aching like cold craters,
waiting patiently for the radiant warmth of the sun,
or your breath, or your touch, whichever is closest.  

the most stellar display of stars i have ever seen
are not in the belt of orion, nor anywhere within the milky way -
instead they are lightyears beyond, resting comfortably behind your lips.

- m.f.

the wooden sticks are in the fire
and never have I ever
seen your face in the flames.
the hair on your knuckles singing,
the hair on my head smelling like smoke,
I will still be breathing charcoal as I fall asleep.

I will still be tasting melted sugar on my chapped lips,
salt in the hollow at the base of my throat.
incandescence behind my closed eyes.

we flicker and we fall.

play that song. the one with the
sweeping rhythm, the one you could
lose a person in.

lose a person in it.

close your eyes.
swing a little. dance that dance that looks
like spontaneity, like you’re keeping me guessing,
like you’re waiting to take flight.

don’t go.

I put the pen to the paper and
I try to make the meaning,
you dance
near the fire and you try not to get burned.

I walk back home and close the door
and you sing me to sleep
silently
from across the street.

sing a little sweeter. I’m still here.

thank you for that bonfire smile.
thank you for the warmth.
we have seen this movie many times
but I must confess that I still gasp.
I still weep.
I still beg you not to leave me right before

you leave me.

I have written this poem many times
waiting for a different ending
but never have I ever been this close
to the flames.

set me alight.

you are a scar that only I can see
in the mirror.
I have already thrown too many pieces of paper
into the flames trying to write you as
a beauty mark or a burn.

come here.

touch me.

it has been many years since I have dreamed
of breathing fire.

I want to believe that you went home,
And thought about me.
And us,
And all of the places we go could,
Songs we could listen to,
And long late night drives that wouldn't be so lonely.

But realistically,
You probably banged some other ******* your couch,
Not even remembering my name,
While I dreamt beautiful things about you.

While all of my friends will tell me no,
I say yes because I can't watch you go.

While all of my friends won't like you at all,
You're quite the catch, and it's worth the fall.

And though I've just met you, I can't help it, you see,
I'm thinking about you, hoping you're thinking about me.

his lips are on your pulse point and
his hand is spreading the ribs in your chest,  
you never realized that being this close to
someone meant opening a door.
welcoming them in. they make
their home beneath your skin and you’re
not sure if you want them,
their laughter and their touches.
their bare chests and their breath.

you are a building so many people
have tried to wound their way into.
there are fault lines in your breastbone
and a falter in your pulse and
these days your palms are more
scar tissue than skin.
every breath hurts and
the walls of your heart are covered
in graffiti you can’t stop yourself
from reading. this night is just another
room in a hallway that smells
of wet paint.

burn this house down.
leave the cushions on the carpet
and the dishes in the sink,
smash the mirror with its smudges
before you get the chance to think.

this has nothing to do with forgiveness.
this is how you wake up next to him
and tell him to leave.
make some new graffiti.
sign your name on every surface,
fall in love with the contours of your shadow
kissing the floors.
you are made of smoke and dust and ashes,
you are ready to face the day,
and there’s no room in you for anyone
who doesn’t want to stay.