Suture

We peel off layers of our soul
like lovers removing clothes:
with increasing disregard for each piece.

We overthrow the night,
lead a vendetta against moonshine;
what have small hours ever done for us.

We eye each other’s vanishing smiles
like rivers forcing their way through rocks:
with reluctance for a world that must be.

We live in imperfect recollections,
forge imprints of a love without end;
what have happy endings ever done for us.

Ever Will Be

I took part of us with me that night
and lost the rest.
Snow crystals caught by the glimmer in your eyes
as you looked up and didn’t know whether to smile
yank me back in time to a street corner long gone.
There are a dozen email drafts but each one
breaks down at the beginning,
much like us.

Stead

Winter light reflections carry me through this city
with the clarity of a pin drop in a soundproof room.
I have been here before, with you,
in another place nothing alike but
you were home.
A blacksmith splinters prayers into statues
of a religion as foreign as everything else here
in another place nothing alike until
you became home.
Arcade memories carry me through these nights
with the clarity of masterful brush strokes.
I have been here before, with you,
in another place everything alike.
You are home.