This metatextual affair

I know I can’t have you both:
it’s either you or this pen of mine.
And if you gave me the incentive
to choose, I would drain the ink
from every pen I ever came across
for the rest of my life.

How Not to Cry Wolf

Would it be okay if I
held you one more time?
My great depression is
being deprived of your
eyes – God, I wish I
could remember. Surely
your skin would save
me if I needed it and
I’ve been practicing
how not to cry wolf.

And isn’t it absurd?
I find myself jealous
of Bonnie simply
because she lived and
died with Clyde. She
will have him forever,
and the world will never
know them separate. Her’s
is the fortune that robs me.
Relax, I’m not crying wolf -
I’m just crying.

It’s important that
you know I never doubted
my love for you. I only
tried to when you forced
me to protect my heart
and, of course, I failed.
I had no reason to believe
it’d need protection. So
forgive me for my weakness.
There isn’t a wolf in sight,
but I still need you.

Another four AM

words fail me.

it used to be that
there was nothing besides
the pulsing of your blood in my veins,
the rhythm of your chest against mine,
our heartbeats, solid and matching.

the fact that
words fail me
is the only thing
that hasn’t changed.

now there is nothing besides
this ‘maybe’ that wakes me up
in the mornings and forces me
to check my bedside table
for any trace of your name.

After the Rain

though i survived the apocalypse,
i’ve run out of the beautiful words
and my ability to make them fit you.
it’s been a month and i haven’t yet
figured out how to stop missing
the way you twitch as you fall asleep
or the way your skin smells after a shower.
sometimes i sit still and imagine
how your breath felt against my
shoulder on the nights we didn’t
share with anyone else, locked in
and to each other until morning.

it’s a shame that on a mountain far away,
miles higher than here, our names
are etched together along with
hundreds of others who thought they
could outlast the rest.

post-apocalypse, i’ve seen the places
we claimed and it’s strange how
nothing’s changed. i walked our
hallways and sidewalks and staircases
and promised every camera and every door
that i still love you as much as i did
they last time they saw me.

and i realize that i was too caught up
in the fact that i did to remember to tell
you the reasons, but i love you
because you radiate your own, made-up
perfection. i love you because
you aren’t afraid of anything. i love you
because you don’t mind if my hair
is a mess. i love you because you’re calm
and strong when i am not. i love you
because you made me think,
make me question, made me trust myself.
i love you because you were mine and
i was yours and nothing has ever
been this important. and that is
just enough.

203

Most train wrecks are accidents
and you are no exception.
I was captivated by your
ribbons of flame, your
towers of smoke, your
ability to embody chaos.
You were too thrilling
to be frightening but only
because I was always in mid-
crash.
It wasn’t until after, as I
found myself amongst the
rest of your debris, that I
realized I was afraid.

Still Wonderful

Your teeth have left their
mark the insides of
my thighs reveal too much about
last night suggested that six months
worth of misplaced certainty does not
change the way your fingers
slide down the curve of my
back to where they belong.

My legs are not
alone in their shaking, my fingers have located
yours are wound around mine like a
snake bites are poisonous and it’s important to
remember if your mouth gets any closer to
mine will put it in
its place is about as permanent as
you will never look as good as you did with me.

trey’s prompt

was i wrong?
this is the coldest july’s ever been.
we needed more time.
a feeling that is meaningless
shouldn’t feel better than one that holds depth.
i can’t explain.
i can’t explain
and i will never forgive you.
here is my worst fear
laid plainly on my bed.
our bed.
silence, darkness, defeat
something sacred, torn from its place.
you wont save me.
i wasn’t wrong.
and i’ll never forgive you.

Trey

I have spelled my name in love
and it sounds just like you.
I have tasted it from your lips
heard it from your mouth
smelled it on your skin.
It’s on your fingers, laced in mine
visible through smoke and
tears and blinding sun.
It tastes like the golden summer
fleeting, held tightly against the shore
on the North End.
It doesn’t have to end.
If you were to pin me down
tightly against that shore
drowning in your gaze
I would stay, clinging to your salty skin
forever in the grasp
of that which is greater than I.
We are tied together by our tongues
tied in triumph.
Turn and look where we came from,
scan for whats left to enjoy;
the unseen doorways of tomorrow
held wide for us.
I have been translated into love
spoken into flame
ignited just to give you more.
I have met with the demons
and met with the angels
and explained that we belong
to each other
girl and boy, alike.
captured and bound and thrown.
It will never end.
Even the roaring silence
cannot touch this heartbeat.
I am convinced that it knows all
and I know only it.

Eleven o’clock

This is familiar.

My turn signal takes me left
onto De Ja Vous -
I think I’ve been here before.

Crack the windows.

Twelve months ago
I would have filled and emptied
my lungs a thousand times by now,
on the way to your house.
I’ve found some habits die
quicker than others.

Shiver.

Twelve months ago
every song would have been busy
trying to convince me that I was
going the right way.
It’s hard to think when
your bones are freezing.
No wonder I always found
your arms so warm.

Maybe
everything that happened
happened simply because
I was cold.

Fall

October caught this skin off guard
kinda like the moon did to the night
when it decided to paint
everything a lighter shade of dark.