You are a shining piece of me,
and all that I entrust to you,
is no longer mine,
but ours.
What we give up
Posted in Poetry
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To Taste Starlight
You hold me each time
when we decide as we decide
to go in the fashion we choose.
I twine my fingers with yours
and we tell one another stories
of threadbare memory,
trying to keep alive
ages long past,
with the two of us being
the only ones who will ever remember
what it was like
to taste starlight
on one another’s lips.
Pieces you lay down
Awake.
Wife handles the kids, while he eats, showers, hurries off to work. He stares at spreadsheets for hours, all the brilliance of his day fading in the moments where his gaze glasses over, and the hand holding the coffee cup goes slack. He drinks to forget, and dreams of a time it was not like this, much as he loves all of this, precious delight radiating from the faces of little ones when he gets home and can hold them tight to his chest, breathe in their baby-smell of sweet milk and warm talcum and something indefinably infant.
He believes they are his, and why shouldn’t he? Kara has always been faithful. She has always been perfect and loving, and so what if he and his wife are both milk pale and all three of those children are perfectly blue-skinned and have sets of curving rams-horns.
But he can trust her, right?
Posted in Fiction, Flash
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Forgotten Summers
At times,
I have grasped the stalk
and seedhead
of wild grasses,
on my journeys
through dew-marked spiderwebs
and the blueflowered chicory
that closes
when the sun is too hot,
and I have been
both old and young
at once,
remembering all the future times
I would look back
and regret
not savoring this long youth
just a little more.
Posted in Poetry
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Before I forget
Before I forget,
let me say that I occasionally want to
reach through the nothing
but time, distance, air, electrons
that
separate
us, and grab hold of you
by the throat.
I want to pull you
back to me,
and put my mouth
on yours,
drink you whole,
and then
push you forward again,
away
from me.
I want you to
remember.
I want you to look back at me
and always remember
that I was the one
who made you bleed.
I was the one
who first made you
what you are
and showed you
all the things you wanted.
I made you worried
you were a freak,
but then I made you love that.
Before I forget,
let me say that I sort of wish
I could bite into you like a ripe apple,
listen to the crunchsweet of you
under my teeth.
I want to tear you open
and delight in your pulse,
then drop you to the ground,
a forgotten wrapper,
a pretty decoration.
I want you to
remember.
I want you to
always remember.
You think
you did this to me,
but in truth
you were always
helpless against me.
You believe
what I wanted you to believe,
what is convenient
for me,
for you
to believe.
Before I forget,
let me say
that I betimes lose myself,
and I would
look to you to find me.
Remember me.
I want you to
remember me.
Always
remember me.