158.

now that I have swung my ribs wide for you
and asked you into my lungs, how long
will it take you to dive into my bloodstream
how long will it take me to breathe and bleed you out

did you bring me here to fill my hands
with all the autographs you've signed
to get me drunk on the water these blue lights bathe you in
and even with you crooning sideways at me, two fingers
against your lips and your breath in my hair
will you still be fifty feet away

will I stay heavy-lidded at noontime tomorrow
just to feel your dusky smile against my face again
will I draw my shutters and paint what I can remember of you
inside my praying palms, and kneel at my bedside
until you come back home again

is this what you wanted, what I asked for
you pull and tether me to your side before you walk away
so that shades of me still trail behind you
like ribbons across state lines

should I be sorry, or should I keep
your wildflowers in my pocket, sticker burrs and all
is it worth it for the slant of your sea glass eyes
and the sharp huff of your laughter through a cold night

157.

look at what I have left myself
some transparent retinal burn, a copy of your cornflower eyes
pressed half against my memory or lost to it
and using your name as a bookmark

and how can I hold you lightly
when I never held you, only waited
for a swig of strawberry cider across the table
(something to keep my fingers from itching for yours)
or a fluster of blood in my cheeks at your grin

I am painting wings on your back
and forgetting that you are neither angel
nor bird of prey

and forgetting the precise shade
of your hair, your teeth
I only ever saw them once, and now
I have left myself with only screens to smoke
illusory reminiscence and nothing to sleep beside

but if I sought your skin and sewed our hands together
if I found you tonight, and fleshed out the blurs in my recollection
with the solidness of your hips and elbows
would we hum together
or fall away

perhaps you are at your best in hindsight
perhaps I should let you stay there