i want
my fingers to tell
the story of how the
freckles on your collarbones
burst into stars under
my lips. you are an
entire galaxy beneath me
and i have
fallen hopelessly into you.
i am not quite sure
i could find my way
out if i wanted to.
while i slither out from
under the covers
below the black
sky that sparkles like diamonds in the light
and start jogging along the dirt
path at the end of your driveway,
you are dreaming
of your childhood dog.
everything in life seems a little brighter
after it’s gone.i pull my socks off
my feet and push my toes into the dust.
i miss being dirty, i miss
the earth.
a cartwheel– the first time
my hands have touched the
dry ground in so long.
i am a child.i pull off the scarf
around my neck,
the one you gave me
for my birthday last year, and
let it drop behind me.i rip off
my white button-down shirt,
my black pants, my boxers.
i am free, falling
to the ground, melting
into the earth, i am clean
i am clean.i am running, loose,
in the opposite direction
of your house. i am running into
the full moon.
tomorrow you will be
in my past life.
soon this, too, will seem bright.
i am never quite sure
if i’m actually seeing
you. can you see the
living if you don’t believe
in ghosts? and yet
i can see the phantoms
in one’s eyes. i take a step
away and realize
we’re all a little translucent
in the light.
suddenly you’re
speaking too fast and
i can’t quite remember
what we’re talking about.
have your eyes
always been this shade
of blue? and have you
always had that
small little scar on the corner of
your lips? you touch my
shoulder and look at me with
concerned eyes. shit,
did you notice i
was hypnotized?
‘are you okay?’
to be honest, i’m not
quite sure i am: it seems
you’ve recently learned
how to shock me.
they told me i couldn’t
hallucinate without
the LSD,
that i don’t really hear the
wind whisper to me.
but this isn’t
a bad trip. i really do
have nightmares about
my own goddamn mother. and
sometimes i swear the sky isn’t blue
so much as it is the absence
of red. and sometimes
all the speaking i do is just
in my head and
the cars driving by sound like
my best friend committing
suicide after
eighth grade graduation.
this isn’t a bad trip.
i’m telling you, the ghosts
still speak even after
you’ve lost the ability to hear
them.
i am stuck
in this dimension that
you only visit to vacation,
and let me tell you,
you’re never here
when it rains.
first,
they are soft: a feather
grazing the inside of my
wrist. then they dance
with mine, two bodies pressed
closely together,
swaying in synchronization.
then,
they are a blanket: light
but warm, hugging
me close, keeping me safe,
blowing air into my
lungs, singing quietly
of an adoration i can
feel. a nibble
of a desire to taste
my entire being.
i savor
the way your hunger feels
on my tongue.
honestly,
it doesn’t matter
what time it is because
i’ll be thinking of you
anyway.
at some point
i stopped feeling, so
i lit myself on fire to get high
enough away from the ground
you’ve walked on.
i see your footprints
on the streets from way up here
as the city shrinks to ants.
i can still pick the top of your head
out from the crowd
from the clouds,
until i am on the moon:
i can’t see anywhere
your heart and mine were together.
All the words I’ve ever wanted to hear come out of your mouth are about her.
a picture worth a thousand words
you wanted the world
to hear me say the ones
hidden
underneath my tongue
for you.
i wanted you to
taste them when you kissed
me.i turn my back
to the lens, cover
my face with my hands.
i only want these moments
as they slide between my
fingers. i only want the
blanket of your lips on
mine. i only want the
heat of you running
up my spine. i don’t
want to press flowers
between the pages
of a book. no
lingering scent
of you on my
bedsheets, no
ink on a piece
of paper to
prove you
ever set
foot
here.
Silenticel 