Thine

Glossed apple and able, staple to all,
unstable like a mall about to crumble,
about to take our possessions,

all the pinings we have in our palms,

the dialogue we had the other day

now lost somewhere in the syllables
you stutter upon—

upon not speaking,
upon not showing,
upon not succumbing to chance.

Take me with you with all the other vultures

circling over your beautiful head.

In a split-second you have become the object of abuse,

obtuse be the ways to hold and behold you

you remain in the spotlight.

Oh beauty, oh beautiful, oh beautifully

you have unfolded like a paper flower

with a phosphorescent center

now glowing even more. Furthermore

you are this: _____________—

a line that connects invisible poles of different worlds

only you know the ways, the nights the days

open and close like a broken door

dormant and destitute like me

when I kneel down and pray for your presence.

The essence remains in the shadows deeper

than the secrets you etch on your arms.

Yes, I see you. I get your gait, I vie for your voice

which puzzles me of your apparent smallness

—I can pick you up and put you in the pocket

of memory and wait for you to call my name.

And it will never be the same.

The warmth of the hand holding emptied skulls

will never be the same.

The rain that dances on your head

will never be the same,

the sun, the stars, the car you’ll crash in behalf of love.

The wave of curtailed invitation—it will never be the same.

And when the digits of the clock drip

to the floor and the earth slowly licks them back

to patch the gap between now and tomorrow,

everything will never be the same.

Except you. Except you
with sin on your lips
and my grip on your hips.

(Published, Paper Monster Press)