The rain of the clouds slowly falls to the ground.
I’m sitting on wooden benches listening to the sounds.
The trees, I watch
as they sway and move with the siren winds.
turn from green to gold ending in dust.
I am not afraid to swim this storm, to face the floods before me.
I’ve been swimming
before my feet learned to walk.
I can’t give in to this tsunami.
I can’t give up on you.
It’s my lonely survival.
It’s not safe with you; you lose everything.
Nonetheless, we share the pills, that green small affection.
As we lie
in a dark room,
and I know it’s not safe to stay.
Still, I take the chance,
Filling my void, for emotion,
Losing myself to feel something.
I will play this part.
Soft, let these petals run. Winds blow east to west, whirlwind strong—
stay ahold, love.
We’ll make it through, outside without a wall—
We won’t survive this wind, unless these petals run.
Without catch, without hold — let me go.
Nails dig into my back.
You bite my neck, I’m dripping wet.
Turn me on with your slightest touch. Your wet lips,
Between thighs and tongue.
Dark and light, we’re eye to eye,
a blinding fortress.
The winds blow –
Listen to trees whispering? Stilts are tipping over.
Earthquake shakes, muscle and bones. Inside out, where blood and skin meet—string me,
I’m holding steady in wrinkled skin, old and peeling.
A distant known stranger, voice to remember.
Spoken with a sweet hello,
she told me a story,
waiting in line, order ready.
I told her she reminded me of a song that wasn’t pretty.
When she asked why,
I told her, I always knew
You’d be the one sitting delectable.
After years have passed, without a word.
Years have passed, Unseen, without a nuance.
Now, to see her in line – wishing for deaf ears, a silent hello.
As haunted below, I offer my soul, for the skies above once again have left me
to defend on my own.
A cliff above your violent waves to keep me breathless and blue.
I’ve become a haunted memory— a part of you.
Come, ocean tides, sweep me under your
breathless waves of delight.
How deep the ocean—may it swallow me
whole, for I am of thirst.
Closing this book before it begins would be a tragedy, so we keep re- reading
our lines, repeating what we know is right.
When I’ve fallen close to the ground you keep me floating. How long ‘til you
give in? My heart can’t emerge from below
the ground if you don’t fight for new soil.
Mud dries, pages loosen.
This story starts with you and me.