Tag Archives: love

// Slow Blood //

What are the skies like where you are, has the new air been good for you. Blue as the veins of the ocean tide, sweet as the almond sun. The way you look through the way I looked away. Do you bathe yourself with the salt of the tears in my hands, drink your tea warm with honey and is it sunset by the window, or everywhere. I hold your motion in the poetry, feel blindly the depths of the things I cannot touch. You enter me and leave your heart behind. Do you taste my hair against your strawberry mouth and draw the purple shades of night down with your low dark eyes.

I miss the lifetimes I spent alone,
someone’s always calling
but no one ever calls me home.

Could it be that we all reach for something like wind to keep us alive when the rest of the world smells only of rot, remains, annihilation. No two souls have ever touched each other inside such gentle bruising. How your teeth never quite leave my flesh days after, the way my voice fills your mind, dampens your tongue, breaks wild against your muscle. How I pray for your healing as I do for you to ache until it bleeds. Nobody says what they really mean.

When you move your body it speaks of the secrets you keep from everyone but me. Lights coming up all over the jagged bones of darkness. The drench of this heady stolen quiet smothering the bedtime trees. Desire presses in my skin. Beating hot, beating slow.

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// This Time Away, Away //

Maybe they will wait for a little while longer to see if the birds return. Mouthing their warm bodies against the hood of the cold. The turning of a doorknob in a crystal champagne room, fall your face into my hands, fall down the rabbit hole, fall up inside the stars. These words you take are the breath of me, my breath a mere illusion.

Please do not. my fragile blood cannot bear the chime of your laughter, that smile of yours will surely peel my skin from the silk of her cloth. It is dark inside the nest I built of shadows, the light and the darkness always forbidden and undressing themselves here, always one without the other, always both speaking at once.

The ticking of a clock: footsteps.
Time is running out
and in
on us.

When it all slows down we are made to face ourselves. It hurts like hellfire behind the eyes when the sun swells so. I used to write like morning dew and now I write like the gray grass beneath the dying, always trembling, always on the heels of the ashes of leaving. Drinking the hips of melancholy static, this is the way I was sewn into a body which never quite fits.

It will be love, I know, I know, it will be love which tears me away from you.
Love laid bare on the wings of a soul adrift, love the rain in the iron garden,
love the silent water bathing night among the reeds.

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// Jasmine //

It had been a jasmine evening which left its hand upon my chest, the moon so lonely I could taste her forlorn eyes. Some days prick like lemondrop needles sweet and bitter against the tongue.
Out there the wolves.
Out there the doves.

Out there a world revolves around itself and the same revolution envelopes whatever this cruelty is inside of me. I can hear you talking but I cannot let you in. There was something they gave me to take away the pain and it took you, too.

I am letting go.

The tethers are coming up
ever so slow

but I still hold you deep in my bones
even if I cannot touch you
this I know
this
I know.

My ribs full of roses blossoming thorns
swollen sadness she is breaking my soil she is
she is mine,

beautiful are the tears which do not come and I know
I’ll have to crawl up out of this grave
somehow
swallow life again but this baptismal throat is fire,
these limbs, how we have become this tired.

I do not know.
I do not know.

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// Red Fire //

My poet is a wounded heart, beaten and bruised, she is still flowering.

In the hands of the darkness we fall upon our knees, turn our bodies into fantasy.

There is a body living in my mind.

She weeps, she feeds upon the thoughts I am watering like vines. A rose to my lips and your face at every window, you shadow of my shadow, you the haunt I breathe as I sleep. It was quiet, the violence, when my veins began to rush with blood, ache for the pierce of your teeth.

The pitiful grace of you, smoke gray the empty eyes, the brutality of the things you do to me in the name of a love you have never known. I break as you force my petal mouth slow.

How insistent my desire opening the moon, how mad the redness of this fire.

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// Stranger Dark //

You are so good to me, I press the words like secrets against your neck. You part my lips with your fingers and as my chin drips into your madness I catch a glimpse of the knives behind the eyes. A thin shimmer of blades, a sparkle in the way this will end badly for both of us but what are the endings if not the beginnings.

We have been here before, rough hands grazing my silk stomach. I know every move you make before you make it, I can practically sing to it. You, whistling for me in the darkness which cradles itself.

For all the sweetness hanging from the cliffs between us, threaded in honey currents beneath my fevered skin, poets only attempt to touch the things we know we cannot reach. Such arrogance, such hope. For all we expose even more is forbidden. We the fire in the ice in the raindrops trailing along your spine.

Time is a twisted punishment but you are so beautiful when you close your eyes.

This is love, this is lust, but this is not the answer. No such thing. Just the breathing out and breathing in, we are steel traps with ripening skin.

This is the life and death of the mind inside the mind, the body inside the body in constant rotation. There is nothing to see but the way we see it. Tomorrow is already here, beloved, (eating us eating us eating us) it’s the horizon which never comes.

Day breaks where loneliness mouths the word for freedom. Quiet fog in your glass house. Cherry wine in your torn up throat, blood washing itself in the curtains.

We will always be lost within a journey into our own abyss.
We will always go hungry feasting upon ourselves.

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// Time After Time //

Wasn’t it just yesterday I wore my heart upon my sleeve, was I not a place where lace would become bone. Now I sit with the richest coffee in the bluest room in a house occupied mostly of wind. Poetry, golden leaves atop a broken crown. words falling all around me and my stomach knotted (the perfection of being bound) a braid of hope, desire and departure.

There is something in sensuality we will never touch.

It is what keeps us coming back to a thing we do not recognize save for in the cup of silence.

There is a place within us we clumsily reach out to touch
and it is crying, its tears are shed in reverse, we swallow them and glow with the blood of all the things we cannot make our own.

Even the flesh will leave the flesh
of itself. Mothers, infants, fathers who have buried their wives. Mothers and daughters and sons, turning in hand-linked circles. Children born of children under an exploding sky.

When I wash foamy upon your shores you do not see me. Woman as fish, woman as bird wing bent, woman as wave which curls like a soft breast underneath your palms, your feet, your tongue lapping at the edges of the sun.

There are those who can write of the way they feel in a way which collects the crowds, I sink behind them. Woman as sunset, woman as sea bed, woman as sandshell, woman as the length of an afternoon shadow as you walk in humid shapes alone.

The time for tea has come and fallen away, the time for dreaming has been nailed to the wall and stopped breathing.

My baby, what shall we pray for. A pale body and soft bones. To sail off upon the breeze and demand nothing of the water. To be untangled of hate and fall naked before the wild. Time wrapped around our necks like iron. The time before the time we’re after.

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// Cry for Love //

And so it came to settle into the flesh. Autumn warmth had been taught to neglect the nectarine sky, dark ivy gardens like iron mistakes, the softest for beheadings.

This had been coming for sometime but they never tell you how it will feel. Train tracks storming the cross center of the chest.

Fevered moth wings stirring up
the swell in your throat.
And the way you touch me, there and there and here,
rain moves into sunlight, wet stains upon your face
peels her teeth against the curtains, like pale eyelids eloping.

With you everything drips of descending, velvet stair cases for miles sinking to the bottom of the sea. The heels of gravity throwing lakes into stones, the dull pink tongues of gulls and we, always hungry.

If you part your lips enough that would be all you ever need to say.

Me
forever spinning collar bones looking for a way
back into the shell of who I used to be.

You
the extension of all the words unspoken between us
thunder between the mountains and the sun.

Cry for daybreak.

Cry for love,
she is in the parlor room bleeding.

Eyes always too protruding. Hands around the air we breath. Nothing to keep us together. Nothing for an ending to embrace.

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