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I still hear the creakas if my heart is under your step.Have I learned the shapeof your leaving? The mattress slowly forgetsyour warmth.Echoes of laughterricochet in my mind. Tears taste like desperation,holding a sign that reads:“Anything helps.” One indentation of your pillow.The ghost of your hand tracing my spine. A final viewingso our love canrest…
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I feelthe way you watchmy mouth moveas you lean closer,until my lipsalmost brushyour ear.
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It All Begins Here
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The textbook answer is:I’m fine, and it’s fine.You can’t make someone love you.I know.I never said I could.
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A man with careful words moving at the pace of old forests. Warmth is a kind of language Spoken underneath black leather jackets With frozen hands on his ribcage. Trembling, like a struck match As you pull my knees apart. The fire is already lit. Slow-burning for months Beneath stage lights and long, lingering looks.…
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