I scratch the surfaces of things.
Table tops, windows, the skin
I beg to love me.
I chisel away at the parts, the imperfection, that force my hand to dig deeper through the layers.
Is there hope in self-destruction?
The doldrums unfold and bleed together
settling among the detritus of bone.
A quiet plea, an immigrant without a home, struggles among the fractures scraped clean and white.
The dreams I have strangled, their corpses, I abandon them.
The surfaces shatter under the blade of my hand, they fall away. I look for a sign, for something human but only black satisfaction remains — contempt has riddled me.
I orchestrate my own annihilation, a kamikaze attack. Plotting a course through war-torn anatomy.
But when the night comes crawling on all fours, a beast of my own making, a thousand dying stars dripping between its teeth, I call my soldiers home.
I collect the glass, I nail the wood back together
and to my dismay
the skin lay around me,
The mountains rolled and rolled
And rolled into the sea.
I am lost within this sentence.
You give me your love
With all its formless, unending beauty.
The mountains as they crumble cry out.
The waves how monstrous, they consume
Like angry, hungry men.
I follow your footprints in the sand to the point
Where you stand.
Ashes and brimstone lie beneath your body.
You are a thousand moons, the light pierces the galaxy.
The stars splinter and converge
And I worship with empty hands
As the sky swallows me silently.
I am reborn, half a lifetime I waited.
Nestled under you I skip over galaxies
With your name echoing inside these bones.
He is a long summer night, heavy with dew. Languid limbs wrapped in the scent of overripe mangoes and sweat.
Warm skin, pulsing. Heat rising underneath.
Our darkness breathes long sighs, ardent hands are shaking, clasped. Begging silently, guarding small fragile creatures.
We are tender skin covering young bones, rubbed red and raw by sand. Blood trickles from the veins set alight.
A communion between souls trading bodies. The god we serve is dipped in nectar, he asks for prayers at dawn, flowers blooming in the new light.
I ask for your hand and the poetry of your palms. Your fingers like rhymes. Perfection and the tears of Bernini embedded between the knuckles.
The river is alive with the songs of Orpheus.
Moonlight falls on moist shoulders and I trace a map in the glow. Frantic whispers are muffled by skin.
If only we could bottle memory. Little eternities hidden under the floorboards for grandchildren to collect like treasure.
We are restless when the night calls. Our eyes blaze as moonlit pools. My heart follows the river out to sea — in a storm. I taste brine under your tongue, I feel jagged rocks under the flesh. Waves thrash in your belly.
Enraptured, I hide your verses behind my ears. You press a promise into my hands. I let them slip between my bones. I let them grow inside my body.