You slipped into silence,
and I listened to rain,
we were in a study and I think
you paused, your breath
was never quite as hesitant
as now.

she was sweet
such a mink
of a girl

i’d pet her
curled, upturned like a budding
flower

she stole my hat.
said
‘it looks so much better on me’

but all i heard
was how large my head was

at night
she wrapped around me

like i was bamboo

I wanted to pet you
like you were something familiar

but your hip sway
and the curved planes of sinuous retreat
that mark the passage of your ecstasy
were too sweet
a distraction

instead
I fell beside you
on the bed
and learned you
the way the birds
learn to sing
and books learn
to be still

intimate without thought

you make me want
Sunday
morning
pancakes.

when your breath catches
I imagine a butterfly
caught
in your throat.

and if I listen closely
perhaps
I will hear it
flu t t er
against
your
pulse

I am the worst kind of ghost
slept into your blood
astringent
a duenna for the soul

child,

the scars you carry
never quite reach your eyes
or smile.
they don’t give edge to your laughter
or bitterness to your voice

they are a reminder of life
the memory of pain
and you wear them well

I’m sorry I asked for a pristine canvas.

I’d rather have you.

Johnny was a boy who drew
with long lazy strokes
leaning loose across an empty page

they said:
‘stay within the edges, Johnny! don’t want to murder the margins’

he goes where he wants
though

making poetry of indecision

they considered him
a Kindergarten failure.

it’s not a cop out,
he just
never quite saw the lines
between the spaces

It’s the trembling that makes me wonder.

when her shivers become something
more
a voiceless cry
expanding from her center
roiling outward in waves
that leave her shaken
and moved
(away from herself)

just how far is she.

pain, daughter to stone
is heavier then I expected
and it rolls downhill
gut-punching all the way

reminds me of an unfolding flower
her scent, forgotten
a non-mystery waiting to happen

I am the ragged poet
the scarecrow of words
my verses are unwashed,
 dirty and rank

but she loved them

she was the hours in curves
making art of her flesh
both sinuous and sweet
and she reminded me of untouched days
the remnants of something delicate
   an undiscovered jealousy
   or a child's sudden temper

I
the worm to her apple, the snake to her eve
brutally faithful to her failings
trusted companion to her worser half

I
dreamt her with outstretched arms
and the callous grace of the unforgiving liar

she was mine.
 my darling soliloquy
 my most unfaithful servant

and now she is yours, as well