unspeakable poems, iii.

i read the same forty books over and over

you didn’t understand how i could get so mired
in words, a fossilized sentence, an endgame
to a paragraph, complete unto itself.

sometimes i laughed and spit out a used word
used wrong, the same way i twist in my perdition,
all alone.

what i wanted were coals to walk on,
the edge of a pier to stand on,
empty air to try and reach across
to touch your face

some way to show you
how much i loved you

but

of baby’s breath, i want only the flower

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unspeakable poems, ii.

i might have woken up
detached myself from you
like a shadow leaving an object
detached myself from feeling
and remembering what feeling
felt like

the rationale lacking

some secret voice inside me
reminding me

intense, stormy interpersonal relationships

my hips are not meant children
children crawling out of them
children tied to them
children clinging to them
staring up with wide eyes
staring up with nightmares in their eyes
the reflection of their mother in their eyes

i knew this wouldn’t work. you can’t get away
with having your point-five kids because someone
will eventually coming looking for the other half
and they’ll call DYFS when they find the mess

and what of you?
with a kiss, i could send you over the cusp
a whisper of breath to send you over the edge

there would be no coming back, you say.

we can never go back.

unspeakable poems, i.

we were feathers fused to bone

vaguery you had called poetry

it is these vague words that save me

were i to go insane
would i write more
would i think more
in the space between
the wax of my memory
and the heat of inquiry

did it really happen that way?

two people in a room.
an event occurs:
i slash at the air
and your wrists start to bleed
i slash at myself
and you hold me closer

let me speak plainly:
were it only for a vast stretch of bed
that needed to be filled by my body
besides yours,
i could have stayed forever to fill that space
that emptiness inside each of us
(respectively, of course).

i wake early
you draw me to you
i am drawn
stark stick figure

filtered pre-dawn
the moon is a cheshire smile
and i am unmade.

one truth: a fragment

if i am able to tell one truth about myself it is this:
i never felt more complete than when i was completing
you, never wanted anything more than to see joy
suffuse your being with its luminous truth. these pale
words tell only the story of a moon that drifts beneath
your skin, milky radiance. what do i know. i am a bumbling
idiot, skin like a crocodile and lips bee-stung and rouged

sharing secrets: a fragment

tonight i swim in a sea of diamonds
faceted images of pinpricked skin
the sound of the moon upon the window
wakes me, and i follow to the rooftop
and whisper secrets of old memories,
of calm seas and steady winds,
of things yet unspoken in the daylight hours,
of new love and greater beginnings.