dead things

The bird on the floor is dead and I am always speaking in metaphors.
I do not know if it is kind or cruel to
leave the bird there.
When the living become dead why do we let nature take care of some
but not others?
You are always bringing more dead things, you know that I am just trying to keep them alive. Keep us alive.
Hades, baby, our room is getting cramped.
You need to let go of some dead things.
You think the ghosts won’t leave.
Look at me, I’m here and I don’t want to die.
Don’t want to be your fucking ghost.
Don’t say you’d love me more.
Don’t think if you kill me, I’ll have to stay.
Don’t tell me about resurrections, 
call this what it is.
Murder.

Advertisements

games

We are playing wackamole and you’re never hitting me
but I feel it all the same. Tell me why you need to feel vengeful.
We are playing operation, you can’t keep coming for my heart and
the butterflies are dead. I know you kill them before others can.
We try for the wishbone, no one wins if it doesn’t break.
We are playing tag but you never come near me, never touch me
with your hands, just your eyes, don’t tell me it’s counts.
We are playing back and forth but we are not playing back and forth.
We are playing chess and it’s your turn, it’s your turn. I’m waiting on
your turn. It doesn’t count if we only play in our minds.  Fuck, I missed your move.
You are a step ahead, but only if I move. Last move, last piece.
My king, frozen, like me. Stalemate. The only draw I want, you into me.
We’re playing, you say “I’m just fucking playing”.
I hate these games, and it’s your turn again.

one person show

I’ve got four cards in my hand
and they are all you.
It’s a magic trick.
How you appear out of air. Out of nowhere. From strangers.
I heard your voice from another yesterday.
Always forget how I can’t forget.
Open my shirt, pull out my chest, 3rd rib down.
you are my favorite thing that hides. 
How you unfold. Refold. Slip from hands, vanish.
At night I pull the sheet over me, count to three, and yank it down. Look at me now, tell me I’m new. Tell me you want me.

lonely for you

Baby, this is how you know it’s real.
Open this box, no return receipt.
Center hot.
Center clenching.
I feel your thighs clenching.
Feel you, feel me.
Fuck.
How I want you to fill me.
I squeeze my hands around you, like you might disappear,
squeeze myself in you. Think about swallowing you whole.
Promise I’ll leave breadcrumb bruises. Show you’re mine.
Kiss your back, I want to show you the beast with two backs.
Fingers digging, you feel like new ground in spring.
Limbs knotting like tree trunks near riverbeds, into your hair,
intertwining fingers, you make roots feel so soft. There’s a lesson there.
But first,
let me pull you in this quicksand body.
Feel the sinking pool in my stomach,  for you.
Speak to me in tongues,
hot mouth. Sticky like fresh fruit
dripping down my chin.
Clean me up,
better yet keep me dirty.  You make me want to be dirty,
Want to bathe in you. Stay in you.
My hips revolving around your hips. Grind me fine, breathe me in
those beautiful lungs.
I want to rise and fall with you. Want you
to take me in deep, slow, make you dizzy with air. With words.
Let me kiss the angles of your thighs.
I want to lick you inside out
favorite flavor, peach juice, ripe.
Baby, you’re so sweet.
Come here,
I want to make you a mess with my mouth.

Her

Do you think someone can make you new? That’s how I feel
with you. What do I call you?
A hundred names, in 100 different tongues.
I think I read about
you, once. In another life.
The woman who slows time.
Never have enough time,
yet how I spend it on you. This clock ticking chest, wants to
match yours. I’ll run slow, if it keeps me with you.
How I melt, suddenly things are easy
and I do not shrink when scared.
When did I become brave? Say out loud I want you. Say out loud what you already mean. What I’m asking is, do you know what this means?
That rushing water will fill my lungs, does it scare you?
Listen to my skin, it sings for you, when you are near.
Hear the cracking, the release. Hear the humming of butterfly wings
beating. Even the sick ones know of tomorrow.
Look for the fattening moon,
look for your hands.
          “Come here. I’ve been waiting for you.”