(torrential downpour)

“It is beyond question that this would further complicate the situation, but I would also understand if you decided to go.”

— A therapist practicing impartiality

 

You are a pastime that I cannot let go,

and making mistakes is a dangerous hobby.

Advertisements

6.22.18

Remembering who I am is a hot-cheeked, sinking feeling.

Pins and needles, butterflies in the ventricles.

Blood flow returning to areas that had lost feeling,

that had been presumed dead.

 

Have you ever been thirsty and drank much water so fast that your stomach hurt?

Things that you need are not always comfortable.

Sometimes things that you need happen all at once.

 

Sometimes they do not feel like giddiness,

but like the dizzying disorientation of being up too high on a tall building.

I am crashing back to reality.

You revel in my fall.

(prayer)

If I am to make a mistake, let it not be the kind that allows me confuse his embrace for yours.

Give me the strength to avoid self-aggrandizing in the face of attention, and understated attraction.

I am not special, and that can be attested to.

 

Instead, allow me to cradle my love like they are holy, like the purity of their affection is the epitome of my humanity.

Because it is.

The purity of their love for me.

Has made me human.

 

And though it is also the weakness in this humanity that leads me to transgress.

I must not bite the hand that feeds me.

6.21.18 (jenga and the price of infidelity)

My first move was jimmying a piece from the bottom. It was all about strategy. You destabilize the foundation first, and every move after is a risky one.

From that point on, both of us wince and grimace at the difficulty of removing more blocks from the precarious structure. Like it’s a game we’re playing as equals — just trying to keep the whole thing from toppling over.

But my first move was determinate. We were working in the landscape I created.

And from that first move, there was no going back.

6.9.18

There’s something about the way water swishes around in the muddied glass

Centrifugal force

Never cleaning the perimeter

No friction

Only circular motion

Around and around

 

In the aisle, I looked up the color for apologies; for resignation

I cut the stems in the kitchen, picking pieces off our floor before you saw them land

I had always been so good at that

I wonder where my talent for neutrality is hiding

 

I have not seen her lately

I’ve only noticed the aging face of someone immersed in shattered pretense

Scarred by broken glass

Water cannot swirl if soapy fingertips drop the vase

And you caught me red handed

6.8.18

The rings feel so hollow

Just like forever seems hollow

As if the cost of my inner thighs is beer

And mixed drinks after, to make the night go wrong

I do not feel traces of him on my body

Seedlings in the spring air cling to me more then he ever will

And you are my whole self

You are embedded in every follicle

You are the precipitate of heart beat

I feel you in my breath

You are my forever

The forever that I pray outweighs my tomorrow

I will keep waiting for you

At the back door

At the front door

At the landing of the stairs

6.7.18 pt. 2

Are you enamored by the way light refracts off the surface of my skin

Is that distracting to you

 

You are preoccupied by the contents of your own imagination

There is no reality in us

And I wish there were less

 

I think if I were further from you, the words would come to me

I would write our friendship like a eulogy

 

If I get a dick pic I’m leaving the state