I was up all night because of this.
I watched the morning come at me,
flaunt its shark's fin of a sunrise
until my stomach began to roll
liked a hooked worm. I'm not
like this. I'm not used to the shadows
on my ceiling from this first light.
You told me love is the only thing
that can keep us awake.
How can that be? How can this
be that? Unless you taste
the first drop of blood in the ocean,
smell the fresh wound. You thrash
your prey as the water churns
around you, me, it doesn't matter,
only this hunger moves us along.
Two Years After Her Death You Save Me
Her face was cut out of wax.
There were no rhythms to attend her cheeks
no way of seeing past the girl
who finger-painted her body blue and red.
You say, I can see the moon through your blinds,
it grows around us. These things keep pouring
out of you while I am lost over this mahogany
box. Your hands tell me I am a loom
so I reach down and pull a thread on her shirt.
She unravels in lumps of grief.
I roll over and tell you I remember when
she became someplace I walk barefoot.
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