turn up the volume

there's sunlight pouring in through your windows and i can see you wince

with each step i take across clear cream floors, each sound

amplified like a surround sound system to your heart

kickstarting it like a refibrillator, jolt by jolt.

"don't be an idiot. anyone could walk in."

"so what? have i ever cared?"
a brush of the lips is all
it takes for you to
give in to me,
all of the
time

en avril

anger clings to my skin,
the way the humid air does,
in the fourth month.

it builds up, unbearable,
and grimy and dirty,
like a second layer of
thick, heavy scratchy
burning skin.

i tell you, i'm in april,
and it does mean more
than just the month that
makes us destined or just
my birthday.

slowly, spirals send
my temper away, as
water, cooling and
clear like diamonds,
wash everything 'till
it's all so so clean.


i surround myself
in water, hydrogen
and oxygen pouring
around me like my
own april shower.

i need to let out some steam.

shall i compare thee to a summer's night?

(for the earthgoddess. i love you and keep strong.)

this is easy, you think, and purse your lips.
pillows are deppilf to the cool side as you press your feverish skin,
and you're sure you can't sleep tonight.

it doesn't take much to forget, you reckon, as red strands caress your cheek.
push them away and huff some more, soles (souls) of your feet pad-padding against linoleum ground,
his voice and hands follow achingly in your steps, thick molasses stretching out along your shadows.

you still kind of love him, you admit, and drink freezing, condensing water,
it's not that which drips steadily onto the table in front of you and each droplet shows you a thousand moons;
the stars are dead, long before you see them.

three little words

     there's something
     [trapped]
     bet-                                        -ween
            the net of my vocal chords
            like ~fish in the sea. i
p-u--l---l them kcab, that tide
    of feeling and force a different
         iambic triameter past poetry-
                                     kissed lips -

                    "how are you?"

scattered

if only, she thinks, there were enough words in the world.

.

if only, she thinks, there was enough time in the world.

.

if only, she thinks...

.

if only there was enough of me left to love you.

dear dryad daughter, time's a-tickin'

(for thedreamer)

-tick
        there's a grandfather clock adorned in twisting oak,
        and it looms above you, ancient, mad and menacing,
                                                                                       -tock,
tick-
        the pendulum's burnished edge reflects his g-g-green
        eyes and it swings serenely from one side to the o-
        ther like conversation and banter 'tween you should,
                                                                                      -tock,
tick-
        there's clear glass covering the gold as hands worry
        away across a glinting face and you've always been
        a tad transparent to those who know how to look,
                                                                                      -tock,
tick-
        marble floors just create a thousand overlapping
        shadows, parts of his personality you never ever
        wanted to see; he walks away, the best things end.
                                                                                      -tock,
tick-
        there's a grandfather clock adorned in twisting oak,
        and it looms above you, taking up it's old bad-paid
        job; it looms above you and shields you from the
        world.
                                                                                      -tock.

"i think we need to get that clock fixed."
"no, leave it. it's always been like that."

blackout

                        the air is cool and its like all the electricity in the powerlines
                        were sucked out and trapped between our brushing fingers,
                        sparks igniting like flames in the dark between us. it's all dark,
                        all around and everywhere, but you're careful, careful enough
                        to scratch, light the match to bring to life the candles whilst we
                        flutter around them like moths, not to the flames but more to
                        each other. your eyes are trapped days, a sun and sky all in
                        one, and your kiss is far too brief but your arms are on mine,
                        squeezing to keep me from melting into the darkness
                                                         ["happy birthday," he murmurs against my
                                                          lips and i just trace the powerlines of blue
                                                          electricity on the skin of his neck, quietly.]
                        the thin striped candles make the shadows glow and the
                        silences golden.

happy birthday to me.
wishes this year, include you.