like a rose between
pursed lips,
you sweeten the
breath
and seal my
mouth,
like the weed between
time’s teeth
you grind me up,
and spit
me out.
rhyme
like the maple
tapped of
sweet,
i stand like any
sapless
tree
in a
foggy clearing
no bird
sees.
time loops around
my neck
cinching closer
with each
breath,
now picturing a
vacant beach
where one may
exhale in
peace.
it took abandoning
closeness
to appreciate the
distance
between self and
all needs
that keep me clutching
at weeds.
behind the
screen
i don’t
tan,
rather, my skin
sheens
blue
like lonely
skies
do.
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.
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.
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.
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?
hands in the garden 
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