Atom Bomb

You shot me point blank

with your smoking gun

semi-automatic

heart.

Charming spectacle

convincing sparkle

in your eyes –

An addicting, blinding,

white hot

like the sun in the summer

but carrying the effect

of an atomic blast.

I soaked it in

and was dust before

the boom.

The Wrong Questions

If I hadn’t met

you,

I wouldn’t have fallen

in love

(although you weren’t

in love with me – incapable,

you said)

for the first time.

Said it out loud to those

eyes

beautiful eyes, like

mine

(but mirrored to mine

because you are

the opposite of me).

Am I Narcissus,

then? Am I

self-indulgent

or do I love

the darkness more than I like

to admit?

(to admit to you I loved your shadows,

fiery red)

Wearing it well

             Insecure rapping

                                 tapping

            wrapped up in memory failed

                             Love hurt

                                         love

                      years spent sending

               badness and fear and changing

         send

         it

         away.

                      physical alteration

                             I share

                with sight, with extra

                                    say I am not

                       perfect you say

             That I wear me.

                                Well.

Monsters

You told me you liked

the Call of Cthulhu

because you couldn’t see it –

because you had to imagine how bad it was.

Lovecraft was smart that way,

you said,

to make us imagine our monster.

In our end I realized

by no wanting of my own –

the connections of you and the faceless beast,

a thing I never fully saw.

Valentine’s Day

It is interesting to sleep

as peacefully as I have

even though the space between my sheets

has grown.

I wrap myself up in green and drift off

not wondering who you are holding,

knowing whoever you hold

will not be embraced by any truth.

It is curious to sleep so comfortably

knowing how many lies crossed your lips,

like my body and soul knew before brain

that this wasn’t true  –

As if finally I have been released from a love

that was love to me

and none to you.

Painting

You saw our love in black and white

and I saw you in every color.

I saw darkness behind your eyes

and I saw hope in your smile –

I saw tenderness in the way you held me at night

and I believed you every time you said

I Love You.

It’s bittersweet, isn’t it?

To know you have been a stranger

but a stranger I know I loved

and will never stop loving

because I saw you in every color

and you were a damn beautiful painting.

Tired of Normal

Often I tire

  of too bright

a Sun

       A constant loudness

        she sings

 Soprano

to me

  weary concert ending.

I tire of pangs of others

      drum beat problems

beats same

      problems

        same

   beats.

I tire often but

  not of you

      Serendipitous breath

    in and out blindly

   lovely

breathing

         living I do not

tire of

Living of

    you.

Futility

Like building our homes

at the edge of the sea,

we put our hearts

in the hands of lovers.

Being as close as we can be

to the most beautiful thing –

the sun, the spray,

the dancing blue.

We gaze far, far –

ignoring the etching of land at our feet.

We know it can destroy us

at any time.

And often hope we die before it does.

Is it? It is.

Isn’t it funny

to cross dreamscapes, see

old faces but feel

new feelings

pits and shadows

past warnings – telling you so –

Told you so.

And isn’t it funny to see new faces

and feel old feelings

that were hiding under toe –

Under grief  –

Under eye lids –

and feel new touches

and feel home all the same