i thought that i
might hear
back
from you
but
i have learned
the measure of the
d
e
p
t
h
s
of all silences
by letting
my instruments
b_r_e_a_t_h_e.
yesterday
i believed
that i had found its
end
but
the silence
only
deepens
when you throw in
your last penny
and
never
hear it
(echo).
she wanted
weekday love
with
weekend passion,
or,
to say it
differently,
she wanted
eloquence
and
brevity
in equal
measure,
but
he could not
rein in
eternity,
so
she left him
to
forever,
and,
among the many
quickly lit
flames
elsewhere,
she plucked
splinters
of beauty
out of
strange nights
and warmed herself
imperceptibly
as the flames
slumbered.
she had
only
two rules:
no utterance
of
barbed truths
(which do slide in so
easily,
but which
hurt like hell
when torn away)
and that
she was
always
gone
in the morning
before
the embers
had
had time
to
cool.
she said:
you’re too good
for this place;
you belong
elsewhere,
but
i say:
places are
only as good
as those
within,
so
this place
is as fine
as
any:
for stars
that burn away
the clouds;
for
ribboning
myself
on your
sharp edges;
for you:
vortex eyes
and stardust-flecked
steps
and
a smile that
tears
the roof off
the sky;
for needing
the earth
to stop its spinning
for just.
a
moment
so that
my eyes
can catch up
to
the implosion
of this spot
where you last
stood;
yes,
this place
is as fine
as any
for me.
silly little lovemachines
that
forgot how to
turn
we are
the symbiosis
of blooming
and rusting;
we are
birds that sing
in a minor
key
or
words that cannot
quite
convey
…
we are
desolate
oceans
filled with
dark things
or
the half-remembered
thoughts
of children
bursting
with
sunshine;
we are
taped together
airplanes
whose finger
slipped off
the
string
or
a smile
that didn’t
make it
up
to the
eyes;
tell me
when did you
last
believe?
i see
the unmistakeable
swirling
in your
eyes–
you have
kept alive
(in secret)
an ember
to relight
the brazier
of all
that you
once
believed–
i have brought you
the tinder
of
tender
thoughts
and
i say
desperate prayers
at the
hallows
of your
heartbreak;
believe me:
we are
made
to conquer this.
isn’t it odd
that the days
drag on
as the years
fly by?
given that
summer is
a guitar strum
infatuation
(with strong beginnings
that decay sharply
to nothing),
and winter,
a cello
making love
to a silence,
what would you
say
if tomorrow
i sewed your
sadness
into
a sarabande?
(you be
the silence
and i will play
coolly
at the lonely
temple
of your
suffering.)
the flames are
in my hands
and you will feel
their burn
emanating,
bathing your
saltwater flesh
and curling into
crystal
vapors.
i have learned
that
only those
whom
we truly love
have the power
to break our
hearts;
but
we must
aim beyond
existence
and have
the courage
to love
again,
anyway.
effervescent rumblings
inside my
rib bones
accompany the stir
of snow-made
shadows
round
(can you hear it?).
when i am near you
i hear the sound
your eyelids make
when they
close
and
nights are not some
dark thing
as i
once
believed
and
i have learned
that
sadness
sits
just behind
the
eyes
(have you seen it?).
leaf-full branches
shatter
the night sky
as all waters
freeze–
and there is
no
accounting
for
that;
the movies
that
my mind plays
show
as i stare
at these
walls
(can you see them?).
it’s been too long;
it’s been far too long,
but forever is no
plaything
and neither
i suppose
are
you.
i know that
there are others
like me–
i notice them
stealing looks
at the sky-wrapped
trees
and sadly smiling
as they think
that
true beauty
is usually
untouched–
(do you see them?).
forever
whispers
in my ears
(i know that
there are others
like me);
love passes
each of our
lips
seldomly
in a
lifetime,
and
i sit
by the lonely
shore
of your
eyes
and
wonder
(can you hear me?).
the small flames
are in you–
you have stepped into
the stream
of thoughts
of me
to cool your bones
the waters will
swell
in time
and your ankles will
stand
against the rush
of water
as the sand
sweeps
over the tops
of your feet
you will feel
my current
pulling
at your thighs
i will
stream
over your
chest
and soon
(so very
soon)
i will
crash
over your head,
foaming
through your hair
and
around your ears,
and you will
shut your eyes
against me
we will be
inextricably
immersed
in
one another.
i know
because
i have
priorly
stepped into
the flames
of thoughts
of you.
if i sat here quietly,
your eyes flowing
gently
through
your glasses
and
over
intertwined fingers
wrapped around
the lip of your
coffee mug
until they
finally
pour out
onto
a page of Fitzgerald’s
(i believe him
to have been
most able
to verbalize
love),
would you
then
look up at me
(just once)
and
smile?
.
i inject you
intravenously
and you slither
through
my open
elbows;
your lightning
strikes
through
my fingers;
you thump throughout
my
sh.attered
chest cavity
and slide
d
..o
…w
..n
the back of
my knees;
you f l o a t along my
s
…w..i
……..r
…….l
…..i
…n
….g
shoulders
and
again
reach my
flower wrists
which bl.o..o…m….
as i
finally
let you
go.
I watched as she floated off to pull her surprise for me from her refrigerator.
As ever, I marvelled at how lightly she moved.
She hesitated as the door came to rest on her slender hip, and, thinking better of her course-of-action, she let the door squish shut as she went and plucked two spoons from the drawer.
My eyes traced the lip of her jeans around her. A thin band of skin pulling the material tightly across her left hipbone caused her right back pocket to try and reach her right hip, a sort of equanimous dance that my eyes had intruded upon.
She flurried back toward the fridge, giving me a sly smile over her shoulder. Her blonde hair swept around her cerulean blue top, and I felt my shoulders burning with the intense heat of the tremendous love that I felt for her.
She retrieved the ice cream from the fridge and brought the set back to the floral-patterned couch where she’d left me waiting.
There was a storm always around her and her scent swirled with her hair and her eyes rained on me like I was a barren field and they were the only thing that could make me green, again.
I felt that green blossoming behind my eyelids when I slipped them closed for just a moment.
I opened them again, finding her cool, verdant eyes studying me.
She slid one of the spoons into her back pocket, smiling, and removed the cover of the ice cream, skimming a thin layer off of the top with the other spoon.
She always eats things in small bites.
“What is it,” I asked.
“Raspberry Dark Truffle Ice Cream.”
As the spoon slid into my mouth, I closed my eyes.
—
It tasted of a runaway summer. Bedewed, twilight soaked grass and the scent of bug-spray rushed back into my nostrils. The sky relit with explosions of light–all of which had been largely lost on me, even at the time, seated as we had been on our lawn towel–I had always been more interested in the explosion lying next to me.
She was twisting her brown hair in her fingers as she looked far away from me, already bound for somewhere else and for someone new, though I hadn’t known it, yet.
She had been mine for such a small portion of the time that she had held my thoughts, and yet she still reminds me of the spray released when waves break themselves on ancient rocks.
The soft salt air draped itself around my shoulders.
I felt my hand pressed up against a waffle cone, sharing her favorite treat with her.
—
My eyes slid open, again. The ice cream cooled my throat during its descent.
I turned away from her expectant smile, and I heard myself tell her:
“It’s not my favorite, but it’s pretty good. Thanks for letting me try it.”
I followed the floral pattern with my finger and kept my eyes down turned, as if enraptured by my tracing.
“You’re crazy,” she said, “how can you not love it?”
“Oh, I do,” I managed, ashamed.
She taught me to cherish you, I thought to say.
A distant tree exploded in a conflagration of pent up sorrow; the pit of my stomach roiled.
She gazed at me with a puzzled expression, hooking a tuft of blonde hair behind her ear.
“How can you love something and also not,” she asked.
“I wish I knew,” I whispered.
Darkling I listen 