hammer and the tongues of gods
the meat of our play
     breaks all membrane restriction
        an explosive pushing out of our ***

the rise of your chest  bellows and rest
the eyes of your investment   in me
the falling mane we form together
drapes
                                   into our milly pool
                              into our night attacks
     we act out civil villainy  and pranks
   we didn't mean to  but  we were spilt

   all the gutted sources of our majesty
bedroom headquarters and missions
   abroad from there  lead them to stare
our belly can hold all the resulting
                        birds of yellow vulgarity

they come to our door
                    with glowing phones raised
and we answer
         leaking behind our death-masks
they've chosen
                      to take us far too seriously
and may strike us down
                                             anti martyred
          alabaster heretics
                                laughing

~
Where there used to be trees,
but is now a causeway
under the Lord's nose,
reside a constant tourist and his wife
who have all they ever wanted,
light and lure.

They swim in a pool
on the dangling homestar,
overlooking metal decay,
she pinches his cheek,
he smacks her bottom,
summer in Gotham
is now upon them,
gifting different things:
he sees mystery lights endeavor,
she sees herself a dragonfly
on the lure.

Monday thru Friday
they like to ride
the elevator of their love,
up and down it goes along a focal point,
out of him and into her,
when the door closes
they come together,
when the door opens
it lets in the tide of loneliness
and they begin to push buttons.

They dislike home
and its constant secrets,
what she wears is for him,
but less is more,
he invades her often,
but she's become a empty field,
theirs is Neptune's bedroom,
if they don't find
a reason to make love,
they will stay up all night
until irritable frozen creatures.

Invictus interruptus,
with the luck of the draw
they play dangerous days:
a game of blindfolds
and snowmobiles,
a game of hammers
and nails.

The plane of their lust
hunts the morning light
on gloomy Sunday,
the rain wets their hair,
the sidewalk creates a song:
electric skylark,
they dance out of focus,
he grasps her hips,
she makes a beautiful sound,
caught by magic,
trapped by photographic memory
and numbered doors.

Light and lure.
All anomalies.

Sublimation will not return
until the day of the focal point,
in the city where they have
all they ever wanted,
yet here they have nothing
more than microcosm,
the rest is distraction.

Maybe they should
remain a constant.

Maybe he should
just hold her.

Maybe she should
just let herself be held.
~

I long to see you,  
To stand within the fragile space where you exist,  
To feel the warmth of your hands in mine,  
A tether between what is real and what is dreamed.  

To hear the silent rhythm of our hearts align,  
A duet composed for the moment they meet,  
Face to face,  
For the first time.  

And yet,
Perhaps it is mercy  
That the distance between us remains unbroken,  
That the air between us is untouched by the weight of presence.  

For when the time comes to part,  
The echo of your absence  
Will not tear so deeply,  
And the goodbye,  
Though still heavy,  
May hurt just a little less.

Tell me,
Reveal yourself to me,
Unveil the quiet moments you keep hidden.
Tell me what song whispers through your soul
In the still of the night,
When the world slumbers,
And you, a quiet wanderer,
Scroll through the dim glow of your screen
At 2 a.m.,
Your face bathed in the glow of secrets
Only the night understands.

Let me watch you,
Quietly pacing through your kitchen,
The soft hum of your thoughts dancing in tune
With the sizzle of breakfast on a Sunday morning.
Tell me of the steam curling from your cup,
As you stir your coffee, or tea,
Lost in the simple rhythm
Of a moment that feels like forever.

Tell me that one line from a song
That pulls your heart into a thousand pieces,
A weight so heavy it drops to your stomach,
A line that echoes in your chest,
Long after the music fades.

Tell me of a moment from when you were nine,
The one that makes you grin
Like the world’s secrets are yours alone,
And the one that brings tears,
The one that whispers of things
You can never quite let go.

Let me see you,
Sitting in your quiet space,
Telling me your stories,
Weaving words like threads
That stitch the fabric of your being together.

Tell me what you see,
Right before sleep claims you—
Those fleeting images
That blur the line between dreams and memory.

I want to know the details,
The ones people overlook,
The quiet truths others fail to see.
Tell me about your scars,
The ones time can’t erase,
The ones that speak without words.

Text me,
Without the formality of a hello,
And pour out the anger you felt this morning,
The irritation that clung to your skin,
Until it couldn’t be ignored.

Send me paragraphs,
The ones that recount the moment
Your world shifted,
When something inside you cracked open
And let the light of new understanding pour in.

Call me when I’m half asleep,
And tell me why you adore avocado,
Or unravel some truth so odd
That I’ll question my choice
To pick up your phone call.

Tell me of the first time
You saw your mother shed tears,
And how it reshaped the world
In ways words could never explain.

I want to know your favorite book,
The lines that bleed truth onto your soul,
The words you highlighted
Like a treasure map to the parts of you
That only literature can unlock.

Tell me of the book that made you laugh
Until your ribs ached,
And the one that tore your heart apart
Until all that remained was longing.

I want to see you—
I want to read the story of you
In the quiet moments,
In the small details,
That others never notice.

Go on,
For hours if you must,
Tell me about the things
That don’t seem important,
But I promise you,
I’ll hang on to every word,
Every pause, every sigh,
Because I love those things.
I love them more than you’ll ever know.

I lit my candles all alone,
on a night that should have been my own.
The tiny flame flickered and died,
I whispered my wishes, but none replied.

He, as always, lay asleep,
while I stood silent, tired, bleak.
I washed the dishes, cleaned the floor,
he “saved his energy” once more.

I asked, I pleaded, time and again,
but silence met me now as then.
I carried weight that no one should,
believing strength meant all I could.

And him? He sighs, he hides away,
a child in mind, a man in sway.
And me? I cook, I clean, I run,
but who sees me when the day is done?

Loneliness lingers, heavy, cold,
a story quiet, left untold.
But maybe soon, when night appears,
I’ll light a flame for me, not tears.

For ages as your aegis
Ageless as years fly by,
Boundless beauty,
It never left you
Even as the golden sun
Fills the cracks of your wrinkles,
Steadfast into the morrow
I will love you, Endlessly.

Not a beat is skipped
Or a doubt held within
These hearts are open
Our words are true
We hold no worries
Because we have each other
We fret at nothing
Because we know we will get through