Quiver

To live inside a song lyric,
how precious that would be.
To cast aside the melancholy,
pleasant artifacts for you and me.

To walk on a movie set,
every line fed, better than the last.
The thrill of those first glances,
rewritten, another scripted romance.

To live inside this poem here,
dreading fear, knowing this will pass.
Lovers knocking buildings down,
pulling rubble from the ground
sharing affections of a world
left quivering.

You told me it wouldn’t work, and I just said “ok”

Tell me how much it hurts,
I’ll say how it doesn’t.
Tell me it can’t work,
I’ll tell you why it can.
You saw it coming,
but there’s happiness for everyone.

Fermenting leaves, only animals eat
your cup empty,
drinking under an angry tree.
When you hoped it’d make you free.
A flow of wine so sweet,
feigned niceties, a lasting memory
on Great Jones street.

Tell me you don’t love me,
I’ll show you differently.

Passengers

We’re all in passing cars like Venus to Mars.
At least that’s what they told me when I was a kid.
I stumbled upon her, she washed my feet,
from the basin with the dirt submerged underneath,
the filth of four decades and no release.
Water from downpours, now silent in relief.
Three words in union, a sentiment with attached strings,
held lofty with dowel rods, pivoting angel wings.
We’re just strangers now.
When the last hug has been passed around.
Strangers in the crowd.

Transient

I can be a transient lover to you.
Stability, security, override what you feel.
Eventually my act gets tired.
Songs embellished in your name,
I don’t know what’s real.
Forgiveness is.
I owe myself a few more mulligans.
Nothing rhymes with mulligan.
Except restarting.
Not really.

I don’t blame you for wanting out.
Happiness is a dollar sign, no time
for silly thoughts, these words of mine.
McCartney was right all along.
No amount of prose can replace structure,
fidelity, coarse in the hourglass.
Rubbing you, those last sloppy moments in bed.
Sand stuck in your bathing suit.
“Fuck me” still hanging in the air over my head.
It felt so dirty to be with you.
Transient love spent.
My well-meaning “goodbye” sent.

bi•lat•er•al

I almost got used to missing you.
Almost never gets it done, the trade-off is love:
the dig your heels in the earth kind, revolting against the sky-
your body taken miles from here,
but never the mind.
How my heart aches without you, nothing you get used to,
and I’m glad it’s temporary.

This is like a film splotched up on screen,
played out like so much Hollywood sheen.
Watching Before Sunset alone, and the reminders and cues,
our first silent pauses and what followed afterwards.
The subtle, not stark, revealing, black gives way to blue.
You don’t easily forge ground that holds no foothold on uncharted lands,
long trails that remain hush no matter how many people clutter backroads from backhand.
It was always you and me, and that’s how it will be.
Your goodbye, only temporary.

Delicious

What would you know about blinking at an oncoming train,
battering ram-style and grace,
she left this place, your mind blown, face intact.
I heard the blitz, oncoming lights,
tracking her thighs the whole way in,
until my skin burned and fringe,
escaping her vice grip, under the pressure of skin sheathed in leather and disguise, bruises to hide and a man she couldn’t deal into a pool of sharks, fins and tails- the last thing you saw are the whites of their eyes.

Jaws gnashing your torso right above the waist.
This isn’t what she thought you’d be and you became that same thing you hate, she hated, breathing through a feeding tube that was handed to you.
Indigestible blocks of dead air, looser strands of hair,
on the kitchen floor- clinging between nails
and toes that scurry, the fridge for milk, cover Lucky Charms… shovel it in as fast as you can.

The only luck you’ll find in these late hours. Red 40 and a bitter taste she left that you can never cover up.
Damn,
this is
a delicious
catastrophe.