I still hear the you in me – in how I pause before punchlines; crush my knuckles like bubble wrap when I’m embarrassed; stab my

my mother’s face is a calla lily, blooming against sunshine. her heart a thick / molasses dripping off a spoon into her children’s waiting mouths

In you there are no tomorrows parading before me their long lists of obligations, their to dos and should dos and absolutely must dos that

A flak of luck, as I think of it, the hap in happiness neutral as a flake of schist. Of snow. Of skin. Whatever time

for Light   An embodiment of God’s serenade that fireflies in the dread of darkness. She is that constellation — God’s calligraphy of beauty on

I dreamt about you (again) last night. Your hair had grown and you were wearing your glasses. The bottomless mirrors of your eyes stared through

It was the best night of the worst year. That is how I still think of it: Perhaps that was an overestimation on my part.

she drinks from a cup of hearts a forgotten Valentine bought years before when our marriage was fresh she smiles through wine-soaked lips her eyes

Nobody writes love letters anymore. Romance has been forced to extremes to Prove itself. Grand public displays that Millions witness on tiny screens. Most of

I am the product of you mirrored in smashed glass Years of bad luck, were they to come or long past? Is my adolescent retribution

We drank coffee for dinner, I watched my body cave in. Her smile has never shone so bright. In the white room that evening, she

You & I contend for the vast space beneath your skin. I’m knowingly erotomanic—erotoleptic. Lusting to pierce you deeper-than-dermis & farther-than-fascia. Ravenously thirsty for your

You’re rattling around in my head like loose change worth a fortune what do I do with you how to honour value when it cannot

Mornings are easy. I make coffee fry two eggs read the news. Afternoons I read Hemingway Bukowski then I sleep. Nights are harder. Twelve hours

echoes in my mind elevate to ecclesiastical dissonance as I rebuke the Man from my upbringing and my afterlife to shroud myself in your vines.