i slide the paper off the straw, and
the smell of Jack Daniels reminds me of
memories i can't quite
remember

****** if I'm through,
****** if I do
stick around to
   let you feed on me,
   see all the gold turn to green,
           o r
this apparent love
turn to mean
something
a little stronger,
perhaps, last a little longer
than those cold, stygian nights
in some stranger's bed,
all those times you could've not
played with my head,
but yet, instead,
you did,
then you'd fib
and say you didn't mean,
oh, but I've seen it -
the dark in you, too,

play(th)ing; whatcha thinkin'?

I've unpacked myself
for you
and the wolves in your logic,
I've unset myself
for the second
I could see it again -
and those wolves concurring with your logic,

I found you hiding in the mirror,
creature of the lion's share,
drowned you in all my care,
                             my love,
a heart without sufficient sleep,
you tell me -
what was I supposed to think?
you made it so easy,
but how it got within me
I'm afraid to know,
was 'fraid to go
into the light without you,
but as I please -
I'll just
keep
going

I am not a martyr.
I am not so pious as to suffer the slashing of a knife-edged tongue.
For what cause?

What peace could my silence bring me?

My tongue is metal too.
Perhaps not as sharp as yours,
My words still have the soft scent of gold about them,
But it is metal too.
And I am not a martyr.

I remember when you coddled my name on your tongue.
It was safe there against the slick muscle and gentle press of taste buds.
Why is simple sentiment and unblemished truth to complex for you now?

I don’t want to play these games of ****** and parry with you anymore.
I am cut, you are bleeding, and we are both weary
From the constant cleaving of delicate flesh.

It is a bitter taste that blooms as steel is folded into my tongue
By life and time and all the things we never talk about.
My mouth is tinged with metal and my breath is wet with blood.


This, my love, is a battle for fools to partake in.
My tongue is not yet a blade, too dull for cutting.
All I want to be is soft flesh and slick muscle.
I am not holy enough to stomach the taste of blood on the back of my teeth.

I am not a martyr and neither are you.
So I’ll go.

To my surprise
Placing feet on foreign soils
Does not root me as surely as I thought it would.

Digging my toes into the dirt
Feels like any other sediment
And there is endless disappointment in this.

There are no vines or roots
Breaking through pavement, earth, and cracked cement to greet me.
It does not embrace me.
And I am not its child.

You're just not enough anymore.

I want to pretend it isn't so, but this skin is too worn to stretch over false smiles and empty eyes.

And I know, I'll miss your penny colored skin that tasted like love-

                And kisses that tasted like lies

                And hand prints that bruised into my thighs

When you ****** me like you cared

                When you hurt me a little, like your wont to do.

                When you traced your name on the small of my back like a tattoo



Fairytales, sweet and juicy as mangoes, aren't enough for me anymore.



Give your sweet syrup to someone who can stomach it better than I.

Let them take all your sound bytes and smiles in to their mouths,

Red tongues warm and wet and alive,

Caressing each vowel and curve of lip,

Until they choke on them.

Let the sugar rot their teeth and burn their throats.

Such candies aren't for me anymore.



And I still crave you,

Still wish for hands splayed across my belly

Holding me like I'm something precious.

I still dream of pulled hair and soft lips

Still want false words of love and promise

Too much like the ****** who won't eat or sleep.



But I can't believe anymore.

I've grown too much to ignore the signs

Faith is a luxury of children and fools and I am neither.

So keep your lies and mangoes and sound bytes;

I've had enough.

I lay and listen to the birds
on a morning soft and grey
as addled memories chase
my half thought dreams away

I turn to you and kiss your eyes
and brush your sleepy hair
you murmur soft, lips apart
our limbs begin to stir

You pull me to your gentle warmth
drowsy eyes start to close
your arms become my hearth
our love is my repose

I am willing to sink into the sound
of night’s changing secrets
where the world sees my breath
wipe away the tears mirroring its pain.
Smiles are caught on fire,
wooed by this poet,
but do not reflect the same.

Instead of playing under trees,
I allow everything to be swept away
by the winds
on the soft petals of a voice.
A voice that empties all its brilliance
into our sleep
comes to see our smiles rejoice.

Life is exhibited in dirt
from the bottom of my shoe
yet never utters a word.
Still, I will never wave goodbye
to thoughts that turn.
Does anyone ever really understand
the smiles a poet burns?

I welcome hands that hush the existence
of whispered memories
lighting candles dwelling in our minds.
If you knew what was on the line,
would you be willing to sink
into night’s sound
in kind?