Asking nicely
if you’d tell me
before you turned into a demon-
for some reason,
this room smells of doughnuts-
and the color of the gift box
reminds me
of the luxury tanning oil
I tried in high school
(before the myth of ozone).
I smelled of butter
and tasted of boardwalk in summer.
I still taste of taffy
but please don’t eat me
in full daylight.
Wait until dark
when we all change
and what matters seems less of earth
and more of a sparkly unrest.
I like when fatigue is earned.

I know it’s grey without tasting the rain.
I know clouds constantly moving along
without needing a reason to explain.

When it’s quiet I feel an ancient song,
not far away from where we linger now,
seeking my empty place where it belongs.

I know it’s too much, for the mind allows
slight watery veins to break open stone,
but not freedom of heart, not knowing how.

When it’s darkest and stars try to atone,
and pull at my insides dulling sweet pain
not understanding I want to know home.

No reason but floating on clouds we remain.
I know it’s grey without tasting the rain.

I stop before the finish
though he has specified
nothing halfway–
I want to push just beyond
the genteel border
where sidewalks end
and rough berms begin

like the long highway
I dreamed
he rode to me,
all dusty sinew,
always sunset

And we grew
in esteem and estimation
though there was
much bruising
and tongues lashing out
like rapiers en garde
before the fall.

crawling isn’t so bad
sometimes in fact it’s a relief

there are decisions made
close to the floor
where space is small
and breath is regulated

looking up can be confusing
without trust

woods quiet
ground groaning
hard, cold
beneath my feet

echoing the heavy burden
I’ve become

trees bent
wind wrestling
can’t hold much
like words or seeds

nothing but outlines remain

lips move
hands pressing
taken, blessed
disappearing need

carrying the illusion of time
we come