heed my lone prayer on
sunday morning
and i’ll carry
you to
bed,
never fully
knowing
why you choose to
guard your
speech,
quiet ‘tween the
creases,
your breath still
on my teeth.
abstract
in delight we
entwine
and drift in
and out
of
dreams
until moonlight
dwindles
and dawn whispers
us awake.
i concede
i love your sound
but can’t coax you
to sing now,
you turn from the
microphone
as though you
stand here all alone.
don’t latch
on
for i may
let go
the moment your
nails dig
deep,
i’m not prepared to
be reopened,
not whole enough
to fall with
you.
sweat dripping on
the same
tile
in a basement
gutted
by blades of the
concealed,
recalling just
how it felt
to wander its
confines
with a clear
mind
and tales
to tell.
in
becoming,
you’ve shed
debris
and found your
place
despite stark
cold,
growing
cozy
as time gets
old.
only vulnerable
at times
to
you,
eyes wide with
insight
peering through.
i was hushed..
just in time..
to spare the flowers
my burning
breath,
and watched them
grow beyond
common
size
in a vase,
hand made..
with love..
by you.
be my last
dance
in the flame
room,
won’t let your
plush hair
brush the
dirt,
should we flee
in time
to escape
night,
may we find
our truth
or
worse?
hidden in the cracks
between cracks–
feeling crammed
into each
gap,
ticking down lost
seconds
as captive of
self-set
trap.
hands in the garden 
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