A Lament

not eating, not sleeping
only
prowling the hallways
searching for the places you’ve haunted
your ghostly fingerprints
inside my colder skin

and I died the night
you left
my eyes glassy grey
you left
me wanting

twilight dawns empty
padding footless through my yard
making its way into the windows
the open doors
my hair and face

I am reminded of you always
by the flowers that have ceased to bloom
by the soil that houses them
you are my home

you are still my home

A Poem

Your arms grow vine-like from your tree root shoulders
Twisting through mine and pulling forth fruit
I am your wooden lattice
Bring me your leaves

Your sunlight dance and flowers fair
Your jagged edges cutting dress patterns into me
Like claws with loving armor

Smoke curls from your fingernails and lips
Shadows playing music on your face
Wings stretch tentatively inside your skin
Trapped and yearning to fly

your neck is a poem
your calves are a poem
your lacy belly is a poem
your leather boots are a poem
you, my lily copper love
you

death will come quietly to me
on a clear, gray day
without wind
and whisper something noble

and, tickled, I will
get up and go with him

Blue

I have pulled out all my love songs
like ribbons from my hips and fingertips
I am left rainy gray

there are promises that I have made
there are poems I have written
and this is one of them

my heart is leaking drops of sweetish blood
I lick them up where they fall
all down my white dress front

and I would like to travel somewhere pretty and far
and build a temple out of clouds
filled with dreams I’ve written

but here, where it is stagnant
I remain
blue from too much washing

Days That Last for Weeks

I want to write this song between your shoulder blades
but you have wings there growing fresh and tender
and the oil in my fingers would keep you from flying

we make the sweetest music together
like cicadas in the dead of summer
the low, familiar hum of days that last for weeks

and I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you

let me pull a needle and thread through the folds in your skin
and stitch you up next to me
I don’t think my pattern makes much sense without you

I’m not running anymore when my arms find yours
I am the still and quiet of an autumn breeze
you helped me find the things I lost when I was young

and I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you