Untitled #12

     The holidays were over,
and she was staying with her family out west. 
He hadn't heard her voice in months,   Continue reading 
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Untitled #11

Je t’aime, je t’aime, 
she was teaching him the French

with her head on the pillow next to him
and her eyes staring into him 

like incandescent emeralds,
his throat nearly paralyzed 

as he tried to repeat the words, 
then the next, ce soir et toujours,

the chemistry flooding their senses like a drug, 
and he could've laid there for a thousand days 

with his face on that pillow, 
sinking into a lock of her cheveux roux 

and je t’aime, je t’aime,

then she took his hand and kissed it, 
placed it on her bare stomach, 

and ran his fingers under her blouse
until he watched his hand rise and fall 

on her accelerating breath
as she said the next words.

“Wish We Were Here”

It’s as if
we’re standing
side by side
in a postcard
of the beach
at sunset
you’re wearing 
a lemon sundress
bare feet ginger hair
sailing in the breeze
and I’m facing you
reaching over
to pull you in
and kiss you
and you’re not 

real

I’m not real
the sun sinking
under the sea 
isn’t real and it's 
better this way
to imagine we're only 
two-dimensional 

figures 

photographed
for a postcard 
for sale
at any truck stop
in the middle
of the desert
for a dollar and 
change.

Abandoned Sonnet

   If a quiet longing were tricked into speaking,
     snared by the betrayal of an anxious breath,
then lend me your love for a moment less fleeting
than this glimpse of the last of my reason retreating,
as my lips, put to yours, are put to a sweet death
  …

– for Holly

Tree House Diary Entry

Blueprinted a subterranean dream house on the moon, 

           painted the Virgin nude for a nickel, 

    and finished a symphony as savage and appalling 
    as a bowl of oranges and lemons—all the while 

           the Muses shaking the branches and yelling, 

    “Brighter, you bastards! The boy needs light!” 
    and the fireflies swarming like mad, mad,

           and my princess's kisses dripping like honey 

    in our infinitely repeating dream as it poured 
    between our fingers like the sand on the ocean floor.