hamster wheel

truth be told
she's tired of you
she yawns at the thought of the same everyday everything
and the way you hurt her
by accident
in a pattern

she sees you scrape together effort
in ways that mean little
because she cares about words
and you care about
riddles

and she's bored of it

or maybe that's what happens after
anger and regret
when touch gets grey
and comfort's the only way
you let each other in

if you would break the cycle
she would
break the cycle if you would

tragic

do you remember
the touch that swallowed our hearts,
how moments so small
built all our everything,

like wheels on dry grass
and the loom of our hands
and holding your earrings?

i do.

and i have reached
further and harder than surgeons
to pull myself out of you

but I can
Not.

the flecks and pieces of me
lodged
so deep and invisible:
splinters of a shattered microchip
forever lost in you.

And this.
binding up.

Always.

of inquisitions
about
pieces of you
inside me too.


Sometimes,
when I don't want to,

I still find them.
& me.
Clutching and Pushing at this urge to give them back.

loyalty

We are the same afraid.
Branches cutting through our clear vision of one another.
Making us find the other
unrelated.

But it is not so,

as we have shared
skin
   and
song
   and
breath,

apparitions we can't hold,
but long to.

When our hands
dare
to touch again,
to summon hope
and slay
the distance,
the retraction is quicker.
Connection banished
and
poisoned forever by
photographs
of that
One electric shock.


 

Two Rivers

it was time to decorate
but her heart was still
half-thawed
and grey,
longing to bring warmth
     but Missing...
the corners
and the nooks and the wires,
the
way they could gather, 
easily around the skirts of her kitchen,
for uninterrupted
aromas
of tender meats,
sweet pecans,
and gratitude

Yes, she was missing.

Missing
The way things fit.
The way that her
eagerly chosen
evergreens
once spread their arms into every room,

and windows, not as cold and wide,
would boast of
boughs
that once
belonged
just Right.

She was careful,
to feel the sadness in that moment.
But,
without surrender,
as she 
sought new
touches, afterward
in
the Pink Flamingo.

 

Savoring

in the dark of yesterday
you kissed me like I was brand new
playing
games like kittens
inside soft blue

visions
of pretending
that we aren't meant to

you sang, dear
"coffee-stained eyes,
I hope you know my love"

and for a moment
I did(!)
and scurried
with

amnesic fingers
to thrust the
feeling of it
past the bone and blood,
to
force the truth of it
into my heart,

        Heedful
of
Tommorow's thief.
His constant tries
to steal
our specks of joy.