You are saltwater Tears, sting, and ocean spray My perfect thirst.
Tag: love letters
Let her have roses
More than anything tonight I want to give you roses. But not another’s words or laments. Not another’s passion. My own. To pluck a seed from my chest and bury it into the black fecund earth and wait for love to take root. I would lay with my belly flush against this soil and whisper…
So lovely you make my teeth hurt
Today I saw photographs of you I’d forgotten about. And the breath I took in was taken back out; returned. My stomach sank and touched my toes. My mouth went from rainforest to desert. You make everything ordinary almost too beautiful to bear. When I remember you, you are not a photograph. I’m not thinking…
Your name is an unbroken heart in my mouth
Fingers to beads Palm against palm Forehead to floor Pray Find yourself On your knees
A Journal of Undoing – Four
For so long I have been in the possession of something that aches to be broken wide open and set free from longing. I will take anything – an affair, a distraction, a broken arm, an appendectomy. Heartache; anything that provides release from the embers of loving someone who needs nothing; least of all you….
A god of one’s own
I wanted a god of my own We would be, my god and I, impeccable in our fallibility I wanted a god who rode bicycles and cooked breakfast Burnt her fingers and held them to my lips A god who came home late waking me with her perfume Reaching for me in the fumbling dark…
My.
My constellation My launch pad of a thousand ships – your beauty is alchemy My belly is dough My breath is leaving me My knees betray
Like Earhart
Ever since she left she keeps being gone. It is as if we were notBut if I am unrealWhy is my flesh stained by reality The shy part of my wrist a plum-blue and yellowSkin she has known as obscenely as her fingers reaching inside of my mouth. This is not a case of distance…
Love in the time of separation
Amour, Time behaves differently around you; the way trees are around the time autumn comes around. Or how rowdy schoolboys turn into dulcet-toned sweethearts around the geography teacher who’s a dead ringer for Rita Hayworth. Time is not time around you. It is an imposter. Around you, time does not move like the staid tick…
part-broken, part-whole 