white as house held
in latex hands,
blue as the breath
spit from a
floor fan,
red as deep sky
as dead as these eyes..
black as ink
tainting green land.
shadow play
inside
we writhe–
two sweaty
ropes
with needs
of their
own,
friction
burns
up and down
our fibers–
better than shiverin’
alone?
at a loaded
table
we tossed our
dice
but some love comes
at a price
i won’t pay
twice
motor’s whirring,
speech is
slurring
past the point
of hot,
gears are stripping,
steel is melting,
mind’s slowing
down..
but not.
watching you like
a movie
i’ve seen more
than once,
i could predict
your next
line
but why mess with
the timing,
hearing you like a
song bound to
my brain,
were i to sing your
next lyric,
would it chime
the same?
i’ll shine like
i need
to,
not fade when
i’m told
to..
shut up, as i’ve
spoken
much–
i only feel
when i’ve touched.
taking hold by
letting go-
these knuckles
crave rest
from clutching
old blankets
so tight
to the chest.
see you soon,
we said
and wept and
waved
as though we
were liars,
under the same
moon
we bask in
truth,
to the hum
of long distance wires.
the day won’t
die,
but you and i
might–
‘less we keep our ember
dancing bright,
guarding wick from
winds of
storm.
though always in
reverence
i’ve spoken your
name
too often in your
absence,
my
mythic
depictions
in front
of it crowds
only increase
friction–
and not the kind
that brings
us close.
hands in the garden 
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