Heartbreak is such a banal pastime.
In each occasional, stolen, longing gaze,
Violins don’t pull melodies, all you hear is the tik-tak of laptop keys
the soft ringing of outdated phones,
the occasional, archaic rustle of actual paperwork.
Each lurch of gravity caused by the sound of a voice
is more akin to a bad case of food poisoning from Applebees
than the stained-glass wings of a swarm of butterflies.
In the air-conditioned hum,
it’s easy to ignore the steady melting of paint from the walls of your sanity.
Impolite to note the floor warping beneath your feet.
Simple, really, to somehow forget the elements that make you;
skin and bones and flesh and blood and force and breath
and, deeper, the primal parts that call for things you cannot name.
Oceans or rainwater or tears, doesn’t matter. Sit until you feel like drowning.
Then stand and stretch, reach for the moon, whose lover still howls for her.
Snatch at empty air until you feel your sinew strech your heart back into place
Remember that you are an untamed thing, and run.
I am drinking white wine this evening.
Which means, of course, that I am not at home.
Strange how not-at-home always tastes faintly of
pears, not sweet enough and not sour enough
something you roll around on your tongue
try out syllables to dissect its being.
There are beautiful women here
the kind that make men beg without even trying
I let the cool wine slip down my throat and watch them play
twisting their hands as if dancing
tossing their polished hair in full-bodied laughter
and think one day I will be unaffected like them.
I let a man put his hands around my waist tonight
watched him toy with my bracelet, my earrings,
listened to him say I should only ever wear pretty things
I think of you, and take my first lesson from the women:
I thank him, and I say goodnight.
Hit the ball
And faster and faster and faster and
Keep it up in the air don’t let it
Begin again, less
Sure than before
A little more
Careful, more planned
But still, somehow
Despite all best intentions
And you were so close to rhythm.
You press your palms
Look into his eyes
Skips a beat
Drops it somewhere
And begin again.
Whenever I am sick and sad I have this insane desire to just drop everything and drive until I see the ocean. All I want is to sit in my car with the heat on blast and watch the waves destroy themselves over and over again.
I am painting you
I am painting you in beer spills and dripped sunlight.
I am loving you
I am loving you like a kiss that hasn’t happened yet
I am holding your words like dreams that have yet to come true
keeping your name between my lips, your voice between my thighs
I am hoping for a resurrection in your arms
but I am uncertain and unsteady and a million other unbecomings
I am irreparable.
You are the movements that made the love lines across my hands
when I had long given them up as scars
I am not breathing steady
I am melting.
I will not be kind to you.
This is the starting line, and if you want it, it’s all heat from here.
I’ll make your pulse race, your knees weak, your brow sweat.
Your breath will come only in time to the beat of my heels down the hall.
I’ll leave scratches down your back and bruises down your throat.
You’ll have wet dreams about my mouth alone.
I’ll come to you with ropes between my hands and a wall around my heart
You’ll trace the arch of my back in your every memory
Your every sigh will echo with the ghost of my name.