platonic

How much do I miss you?
When I remember
Not often

I am thinking of our last embrace
How I ran into the station
Ten minutes early
How I lied to cut-short the suffering

Good thing you knew nothing about trains

Good thing I found some sun

Good thing you've picked up the pieces of your shattered dreams

Each one an intricate puzzle

Don't forget

The clouds are dark
Where I used to live
With you

But I don't think of you so much now
Only instinctually
Only to tell you everything

When I remember...

Not often

conversations with God

Every morning your sighs blow to me
Across my pillowcase

Your hand reaches out
Touches my cheek

"Awake with me"
You whisper

With my eyes still closed, I lie
"You are not ready for love"

I say
To silence

What will happen if I open my eyes?

pick me

I saw it hanging there

A ripe sort-of fruit

Suspended in the sunlight

Red and soft and beating...

My heart.

l'uomo dell'autobus

I know the many corners
And closets
And hallways
Of your story
How you wooed your wife
At the lago
Picking strawberries
How you puffed with pleasure
For not one
But two
Handsome sons
All your stories dripped
Of Imperial Pride
That blood
Still alive in your body
You spoke of Dante
And I lied
When I returned
Your book, too foreign for my soul
The first time I saw your knife
I was almost
Almost afraid
But boredom will be put to use
I think I was your equal
There without shelter
There unwelcome
Waiting for salvation from a hard-day's work
Sometimes you looked
With desire
But old desire
Less for me than for you
I know that without you
I felt exposed
To the elements
To the hungry traffic
I know that in your absence
I stood
With Fear
My other, faithful Companion
I know that I clenched my ticket
Soaked of sweat
Hoping to free it
From my shaking hands
And I know that one day I will pass our spot
Maybe you'll be there
Maybe not
But I will see you, chewing grass
Though I won't call to you
I couldn't
Three years
And I never knew your name.

i saw a gift withheld

When will the mothers say, “Enough!”

When will they look at their babies and agree,

“He is no longer a part of me”?

When will the mothers release

The fathers from their undone crime,

Admit, “He’s yours as much as mine”?

For what does the father have

That the mother does not give him?

hands

I remember strolling up to you
As you waited for me on the corner
Head down in your phone
Behind the faithful busker

I watched you and wondered
What you saw in me
What made you come
And wait

Hey
I grabbed your arm
And kissed your cheek
It triggered a smile
You squeezed me tight

You let me walk out to the ocean
By then my lips were chapped
But you kept on singing
That song about love

And nudging me
And searching
With your eyes
For my hand

And I almost released it
From its pocket-shelter
I swear I almost

Slipped


My hand



In yours




I--

erased

All of me is tired, a quill run dry
Where's the witch who fed me contempt like a drug?
I'd like to tell her my name
I'd like to write down the list
Of all
The lovers
She
Erased

Who's to blame if I'm a half-read book
If I tempt you to skip some pages I call "blank"?
They bleed of unkind revision
I'd like to cut off the hand
That marred
My truth
And
Left