F&cking;**
is what I did before you came along
15 minute sessions
between classes
in a ***** dorm room--
hands clawing
lips mashing
hips crushing--
they filled me up
and then left me feeling empty
broken

but you came and picked the pieces up
stitching me back together with your kisses
you showed me you loved me
in the most intimate of ways
hands holding
lips searching
hips grinding
heating your home in the dead of winter
with the steam off our own bodies.

Torch flame and red wine.
                          I'm doused in paint and sweat
                          Stomach curdled in hunger and irritation.
He is late.
He usually is.
                          The wine was for me.      
                          Nevertheless, I let him sip from my glass.
           We argue. Pardon...discuss.
                           I win.
                           I usually do.
           We watch the bottle vanish.
           We recline.
           We muse.
                           I relax into my own sore muscles
                           including the muscle in my chest
                           tell a story that sharpens its ache.
He stutters.
                           I startle as
he kicks his chair out from under him.
            Tears flicker in torchlight.
            Hands clasp too fervently.
            Questions.
                           No. Actually...
                                  
...just one.

                           I knew the answer, but was
                           left
                           utterly

                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                     
                           ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­ speechless.

Your arms slung
under my head and knees, and
though you had cleaned the gutters all day
and mowed the lawn
and dusted the webs from the shed, you
raised me from the undignified
slump on the couch
though you were tired
and carried me to my bed.

I was here once before.
Carried by a different man's arms.
I was smaller then.
My room scattered in Lego pieces
and plastic dinosaurs
now houses mountains of clothes and books
like Smaug piled his gold.

I was here once before,
but he is too old now to carry me
and I, too tall.
But you remind me of him.
You are young and strong enough
to lift me as he once did.

Perhaps, someday, he will see
and thank you for doing what he
no longer can.

Meanwhile
tears sting my eyes
as I realize
I have never been, nor will I ever be
strong enough to carry him
as you now carry me.

As soon as the alarm explodes,
the silence after seems spoiled.
Quiet slips into one ear, through the tube in my skull, and out the other side -
a precipitous flow of energy.
      Here.
      Gone.
Drowned in the avalanche of thought -
      anxiety
      anger
      awe
      analysis
all of it tumbles like a cage of numbered Bingo *****
clattering against the bars as my subconscious turns the handle.

Stop
      Please
            S t o p. I t.
                  NOW.

I just want to be
for just a moment.
I just want to hear
your breath falling
slipping into one ear, through the vortex, and out the other side
smoothing the roiling sea like a summer wind
sending whispered shudders
through my neurons
silencing the cacophony
as it flows
      and fades
            into quiet.

You
Yes, you
You’re not supposed to know
About the parts of my body that shiver
With pleasure at the purchase of a glossy Spider-Man comic

And
You
You’re not allowed to know
How I want to dig my fingernails into
My brain matter when it’s racing light-years ahead of my emotions

And
You
You’re a stranger who shouldn’t hear
How I jettison ideas like bullets, poetry like shrapnel
In hopes that it will hit someone’s beating heart and make it bleed

And
You
You’re not obliged to absorb
My metaphors for how martyring it is to be alone
And truthfully how much more terrifying it is to belong to someone

You
Yes, you
You’re not allowed to read this
Barrage of brokenness if you found it under my bed, only
When I whirl it in cyberspace, shotgun-like, to blast you in the face

Yes
I said
You’re not allowed to read this
But truthfully?
All poets lie.

we all think we have something like no other
we all think "no one else has had late night talks like ours"
      "kisses like ours," "*** like ours," "a love like ours"    
we all think ours will not leave us

and when they do

we all think no one's pain can rival our own
we all think "no one has ever felt loss, tragedy like mine"
      "aches like mine," "benders like mine," "tears like mine"  
we all think we'll die alone

and when we don't

we all think we've hardened and learned our lessons
we all think “I'll never be that person who does it over and over again”
      “be loved again,” “abused again,” “betrayed again”
we all think we’ll never fall

and then we do.

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.