love

Dripping in Gold

 

I took her hand

and poured gold in her veins.

There was nothing more I could do.

 

 

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Clocks

 

I placed her head in my hands
and laced my fingers through the patchwork of her silence.
Clocks can't hold you, Love,
but they’ll eavesdrop
and try to slip a limit on moments.

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Pan

 

 

I am no Pan, but follow me into the woods
just this once. I will protect you.



 

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Salt and Seashells

 

Sea salt made a fine layer of dust on your skin

when the cresting waves alternatingly

pushedand pulled your body

with the readiness of a lover. I stood

on the shore, toes gently lapped

by the aftermath to

the small violences you refused to shy away from

and daydreamed about your voice against my skin.

I called out to you, then,

and culled the seashells from my fist to select

the one best suited for your hand.

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Georgia

 

Georgia stole the drugs in the glovebox

and traded them for passage. I don't
remember Texas. I barely remember
you.



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The Cupcake is a Lie

 

 

There was a café at the end of the road

where the patio trickled onto the sidewalk

and umbrellas opened like snowdrop petals

allowing only splatters of sunlight to decorate the plates

placed in front of posied forks and clinking glasses.

At noon we sat with people sipping rosé

and nibbling the edges of pastries:

you with your cupcake, I with my

tart. Your mouth full of mischief, you spoke

with your hands to clear my head and

there was something like sweetness

on your fingers. Words sifted between your eyes and 

a token of my innocence saw the sun

when icing stuck to your bottom lip. 

I barely noticed the tremor in your fingers

when you raised your glass to toast the afternoon or

the acidic taste of the powder I wiped off your nose with my thumb.

 

 

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Summer

She lingered over her martini, an olive

floating gracefully in the gin,

vermouth and humor sitting dry on her tongue.

The summer evening slowly inched itself across the tablecloth

until the light from the candle at the center

hindered its crusade to bring on the dark.

I ran my hand over the flame, letting it lick the dent of my palm,

inching it further down until

the quick pain reminded me of that first pinprick of love

the night we met. Do you remember

the earthy smell of the apples slowly rotting under the leaves?

The world altering itself beneath our feet?

There was a sense of urgency back then, a need

for hastened fingertips and my lips to always be pressed to yours, 

skin rubbed in raw emotion until it burned like kindling 

in the night. Your eyes were golden

under the lanterns, your hands pale birds

swooping over your plate.

In that moment my skin burned for the ocean

of your curls across my hips,

the charm on your necklace to brush against my thigh,

the warmth of summer waves to pulse beneath my skin. 

 

Echoes



She let the glass fall with a flick of her wrist,
condensing the air to an acrid twitch
and rendering my vision to pinpoints as
I watch the reflection of her eyes careen to earth.
Will you reach your hand up to my cheek
and read the wounds you stashed inside my corneas?
Or will you stare at the echoes at our feet
until my hand reaches for yours
across this shattered display of moments?



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You

 

 

Perhaps it’s because I miss you, the real you

or the thought of you.

It’s not like I know the difference.

 

 

 

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