[my body complains]

my body complains
when I make it move 
but it’s young, it can take
so much. and i’ve never
really told it what to do
before; it’s unbroken, lazy
it bucks and buckles beneath
me. but at some point,
don’t we all have to live
inside our own bones?

modern love poem

i am writing you this poem
out of lust, out of desire
to feel your skin on my skin
again. of all the boys i’ve let
share my bed it’s you 
found me funny and who replied
don’t be when i said sorry
for not sleeping with you. 
it’s a trick that works
on me, or maybe it’s honesty,
but how were you to know
i will only do things if
no one asks me to. 

sanctuary

you made me out of marble,
pure and inviolable,
and bid me hold up the sky
because someone has to keep
the stars just far away enough
that we can imagine them
the better way. but i’m all hollow
on the inside, i tried to tell
you. i’ll shatter, someday soon.

[the river smelled like summer nights]

the river smelled like summer nights
today, and was so still i could see myself
watching the world. so cautious, and yet
so easily damaged. all i needed was the scent
of bonfire to make me whole again, but
life never repeats. every single moment 
is passing,
                    gone, 

                                gone, 
                                              gone. 

 

[in french if you want to say]

in french if you want to say
i’m tired, you can say je suis
lasse. which sounds so much more
like exhaustion than any of our words
can describe. the hiss of a balloon
being drained of air, or your body
growing too warm to stay awake. 

[we climb the spines]

we climb the spines

of sleeping dragons and call them

mountains, their tossing

and turning, avalanches,

earthquakes. everything breathes but we

try to make calamity less

personal. less responsible.

[a fine disregard]

a fine disregard
for awkward facts
will get you far
in this sugar-coated
sour-centered
world of ours. after all
evolution gave ostriches
and their sand-burrowing,
flightless ways
a thumbs-up.