Absent Love.

I'd like to dip you
into a pot of honey,
so that I could
lick your shining
arms,
and have
that nectar,
the taste of
our sweet,
smitten place,
our simple
adoration,
our easy,
easy love.

And when all of your
cold parts are
warmed and
nursed,
wrapped in gold
and ready
for a flighty mouth,
I will clean you.

Take my hands,
browned and
balmy as they may be,
and place them
over your
eyes,
below the sunlight,
so that you may
see through my
skin,
and see through my
bones,
blood,
and my need
for you.
Take my hands,
so that you may
see as I see.

Lift your tongue,
through the
shell of my ear,
delight in the weight
of every word
you've spoken,
every word
I've never forgotten.
Run over the
ridges of our past,
the thousands of
letters stacked
upon letters,
and sentences
coiled behind
theories and fables
we've parented
together.

Disentangle
your cold fingers,
those fingers I've
dreamt of
for five messy years,
and pour them
over my chest.
Lay them still
and you may notice
that your breath
is pushing
and tugging
with the sway of
my own.
Listen closely,
and you might
find that my
heart
is twinkling
quietly
along with
yours.

I'd like to take you
away to an island
off deep in the sea,
where only
two sets
of blushing lips
are our company,
where we
wind eachother
in white palm leaves,
and laugh
like children.
If I could protect
you, if I could
save you and
all of the glowing
jewels of our
past,
I would
build us a ship
and sail us
away from
where we have been,
because I see
how deep your lovely
feet are buried
here.

Book of Wonder & Delight.

Something in my journal.

Nice to Meet You.

Very old, never finished.

Once and Again.

Starting off with a bang- this world has been turned on its ear, is lying flat, listening to the thumping sounds of the earth. What's coming? Distant vibrations and foreign clouds of dust lead me nowhere, really, just back to you, wherever that is. The sky is billowing after the fires it embraced the night before. I haven't written since I taught myself to forget you, and now your face is seared into the darkness of my cold garden, like you were there all along. After we spoke ourselves hoarse, my fingers are seizing with the unsaid. I slept three hours last night, and then dreamt of your face, white as bone and much warmer than before. I don't understand, and never have.