Sunday Showers

Drops of water blast my skin 

like fiery hail, but it’s best

when it hurts. 

Fuck it--twist the knob as far as it goes. 

Divide

my body into sections, 

precise and practiced

as a coroner. 

Scour away 

his scent, the stale sweetness

that lingers on me. 

Scrape until dead

skin clutters the space under my nails. 

Step out, 

lungs seared by steam, 

skin tender and raw and

pink as a newborn--

yet his words still cling

in the cracks of my brain, 

No scalpel or saw

in sight, 

I open the fogged-up cabinet, 

searching

for anything to help me forget

what he made

me do, and ease the bile bubbling

in me

until next week. 

From an Undiscovered Moon, With Love

Like Your namesake, You

overpower—You pull me

until everything I am revolves

around You.

 Did I only imagine

you tilted towards me?

 This erratic trajectory

sends a thrill through my core

nearly strong enough

to shatter

its adamant foundation.

My fingers stretch in a silent plea,

but You stand steady

as I hurtle past,

barely scraping Your atmosphere.

 Who am I

to complain of Your indifference?

Perhaps You overlooked me

stuck in Your orbit.

If I were Europa, or even

her lesser sister Calisto,

You might notice my passing

attempts to be near You.

 But my name

carries no such weight

on earth or in the heavens,

nor is it pleasant on the lips.

Nighttime Routine

10:47.

Bedroom walls

shake

in rhythm with the heartbeat

pulsing

through my eyes.

Hauling lead limbs

to the bathroom,

I wash the serene face

staring from my mirror, opaque

marbles gazing

blankly. Sinking

down

onto the bed once more,

I watch each picture on the wall

blur. Except his face, always

piercing

10:55.

White fingers clutch

whiter sheets,

straining to hold my molecules together

until

my chest splits

down the middle with a

deafening

crack.

A Summer in Johannesburg

He was always so

Annoying

In the morning,

Practically dancing into the kitchen,

To the waking sounds

Of the hadeda birds.

He poured his coffee

Carelessly,

Dark little splatters

Escaping onto the white tile floor.

He didn’t even wipe it up,

Just half-heartedly swiped at the mess

With his foot.

 My mornings are quieter

Now. Sometimes

I catch myself

Listening for the synchopated patter

Of his footsteps

Coming from the hall.

But usually, I don’t think

Too much

About the boy

Who was bright and

Unavoidable as the August sun. 

My 4th annual tattoo || “The Phoenix brings his own bones to that place, those that the torch surging enwrapped before by the pyre in that sheltering stead, and the ashes besides. Then battle-brave he buries all together, bone and cinder, on that island. He is renewed by the sign of the sun, when the light of the skies, the gladdest of gems, joy of noble stars, up over the spear-waves, gleams from the east; Therefore he never fears drooping death, the sore killing blow, because he knows that life is always renewed after the flame’s wrack, the soul after its fall, when it is swiftly restored from the ashes through the bird’s nature, rejuvenated under the sheltering sky.”

The Ship

I am a ship with no port An empty vessel Battered, beaten by the waves My inner workings creak and groan As storms pound, smash me mercilessly Whirlpools threaten to drag me down Down to the murky depths From which there is no return Worse than the storms Are the days of unforgiving sun I am bleached, burned, scorched In this land of water Barren and bright as a desert Though I never stop moving, ever moving, nothing ever changes 

I am always seeking Searching for that safe harbor How I long to drop my anchor To let my tired frame rest To escape, escape to home But the longer I sail The more I am convinced This sea, blinding, unending, terrible This is my eternity

I'm in love with the stupid things that only we find funny, and the way you show all your teeth when you laugh

I'm in love with drifting to sleep by your side--my hand tucked safely into yours

I'm in love with not having to hide myself from you in any way, because you know both my soul and body so well

I'm in love with the caress of your fingers; you touch me as if I were made from the finest silk

I'm in love with the way your brown eyes grow soft and sad when you look at me, those deep wells of memory

I just wish I were in love with you, too