your hidden sew

Last night I fell asleep believing in you, and when fractured light danced through flaps and painted watercolored memories above my bed I woke up quietly. I dreamed you had sewed the most beautiful blanket I had ever seen with all our favorite colors and shapes. And you spread it out across the floor for some dreary expert and his approval, while you took no notice of me. But, when you were looking away from your blanket searching his magnificent criticism, I became entranced snuck my sliding, clutching hand across your threaded scapes, sighing at your stitches, and fell in love with you for the first time again. Warmer than worn corduroy, softer than warm coffee.

drunk and dropped

Tied knots
not us not us
i broke a sink and watched my dreams of you
disappear through cracks
swirling with the tide
a genie sucked back into its bottle

now i know
to feel alive
a body is just a body
 nothing else
and when you
the only one who could
demanded a higher love from me
 and I was a better person
I was.

The bones in my back
just bones in my back
the buds of my lip
to talk to eat
but nothing more
my hair nothing lovely
a mess i ought to cut it all off

There is no beautiful me
loved me there was
when the magic wears off
when the booze burns up
when the lights exhaust out
a floating body
 light
insignificant as a wild daisy
 waiting and knowing
for dogs and hunters.

february roaches

I wanted to know I could feel happiness without you, and when I did, and when I did, and when I did, and when I did, and when I did I felt it, a sadness fell upon me like a streak of sharp
blood blue paint falling into Their morning alka seltzer glass,

because I had not You to share my happiness with.

indecisive in love…..what a true pain in the ass I am; but I’ll always be that, I’ll always be that, I’ll always be that, I’ll always be that I’ll always be yours. 

Because you'll never Believe

It's daffodil Season, and so I
think of winters past

           Remember
     how we used to season
     our sweet
     potatoes with
oregano
you kept in a tiny jar

        My old fashioned
             candy heart
    would get sticky...    as I watch you
    hovering
lovingly    over such
a warm stove      fingers earnest
     and reverent,
       saxophone,
 careful-l-y dropping     fairy      dust
on 'range sleep wedges
          ...
breathing    like
             warm                     crystal     in   the window

We'd smash
potatoes
    into shape-shifting
pools
       dark
       thick  
       tomato     .ketch up.
that glistened in the steamy house.

Caution not, leaning back
smiling at eachother for     making
   for...
living
such a day worthy of that     moment
bellies full
of equal parts
     ketchup       and        sweet potato, timeless
     orange         and        red..

But most of all your oregano, a secret aphrodisiac of your turning Roma ancestors
                          no doubt.

a pleasure filled death

I offer you my lips
parted
by rosebuds
  wearing
the
deadly mask of a child you
reach
  my face
and squeeze
until you see the juicy beads of angry red
rolling
   out

owed to a lost piano man

I'll never back down. 

my songs shuffle to Clair de Lune, and I turn around to see you at a set of keys, and you're not there. what i would give up for days just to hear you playing Clair de Lune on the piano again. All the unintentionals, the unintended sounds between the notes. I would have never wanted you to play perfect. The sound of your mind hard at work in the apprehensive pauses, when you shift in your wooden wicker chair or bench releasing its structural tension, when I would hold my breathe in, linger on the last word I read until I could hear the sound of you finding your way back to a musical risk, u know once u make a sound u can never undo it never erase it. u know, that's what i love about music, what i think you loved about it too. you have to learn to love your wrong notes, to love the dissonance you invent when searching for consonance, your stumbles are works of wonder. Dear god how I've missed you, musician, for too many quiet nights. All I've heard since you stopped playing are the echoes of humming dripping appliances, my new fridge sounds like my stomach when it's twisted up in juicy knots…where are you, musician..where are the sounds that narrated the blueprints of your brainy brainy soul, the fattening tensions within you that released when your fingers inspired earthen electricity and pulse in shiny black and white rivers, where'd's your unintentionality prove your intentions so beautifully lost, where'd's your self-doubting lead if not to an unapologetic musical note, my love? What did you expect when I lost you, musician, whose music was my only glimpse into the anguish and pleasure of your muscled mind you kept so selfishly from me thereafter?

Relationship of Mirrors

A boiling pot by fire meets a cold wandering breeze

It was not the way He looked at her, no not this time 

the breeze found the atmosphere too light, itself too heavy, and sometimes lost flight, 

collapsed into rocks

was the way her trail of fever lit gold flowers aflame deep deep in his eyes

pot of clay withstanding its self enemy, how oh she sometimes wished to swallow her water nd 

melt down to the embers 

when their eyes met was the way he saw her for 

one moment
one moment eternal

still

full of his swirling breathe, no longer hiccuping

she housed she warmed the heavy breeze, he soothed he dried the perspiring swells. forever 

this intimacy was.

Until one day his eyes dimmed upon her, when what was intimacy was just another intimacy apparently only hers and
not his

Mirrors reflected one another crashing and shattering to the floor like two domino lines facing 

and remaining mysterious, for none knows the breaking of his reflecting gaze, 

not even he,
but worst of all, not
She.