October 2010
Break the surface, don’t break my bones.
September 2010
After Love.
In the first poem I wrote after you left, i killed you.
My hand met the back of your neck
and led you to water, where I held your hair-
under-one last time.
But this is the poem I’ve kept-
it’s years ago and we’re in bed.
Night slips into morning and I relize
I’ve woken early again to watch you dress,
to remember you,
even though you’re right there, next to...
ooh do i love you.
i want everything and two of some of this shit. find my place in the apehouse. see myself in their eyes. my fingers on their feet. my possessive love somewhere in their embrace. my freedom’s limitations in their swinging and hollering.
