Ink

The girl I talk to,
Says she loves me with all her heart,
But that its blue,
And on the wrong side.

When I see her next,
It begins to rain,
Slow streaks of blue form,
And fall from her.

I fumble,trying to catch,

All of the pieces I can see,
And those that I cannot.

Beacon

The cold is plastic on my skin.

I trace my face,

to see if its still mine.

What is it,

to see the sun and not feel it?

When I finally do,

my cheek burning,

much like from love’s first touch.

 

What I want is this-

to meet the smells,

the jarring, the rank,

fading trace of garlic on skin,

fresh bakery butter icing.

To burn in the sun,

blinded by heat,

exhausted in its light.

The Somnabulist

Where do you go to darling,
When your love is lost;
Floating in a leaf boat,
Down a quarry fringed with quartz.

Take me back to the morning,
The light in which we met,
Your hair was all honey,
We spoke of dying and the dead.

Where do you go to darling,
With your faded rag doll;
She said one time too many,
“Go ahead, take it all”.

Kindly you offer your hands,
To the somnabulist lost to the sea;
You knew her when she was all honey,
What if, its not you she needs.

What if, its you she needs.

What if its you she needs.

For you, I’d lie

I broke,

Failing in all the ways,

They said I would.

Dripping down the street,

Painting pictures in my sleep

And if I could,

For you,

I’d lie

 

People who see me,

Shake their heads and sigh.

They imagine the blood from his lips,

Has run streaks in my sky.

They gift me puzzles from a time,

That would not keep-

That were not mine.

 

I laughed.

Two months – tight bound,

Only to find,

I have woken in a bed,

That isn’t mine.

And as much as I want to,

I know,

I would be no good for you.

Failing in all the ways,

They said I would.