Flare

Yesterday I was wearing this,
broken silver chains around
my fists, mercury dripping
from my collarbone
onto the satin of my screaming—
Ringed with quiet.

unbroken mist
to kiss her fingers
a rosy cold
pushing yellows through
stained glass
gasps
in the rafters

Polaroid

Warm as winter
     leaking.
Two cars on the sidewalk,
snowfall purple
in corrupted emulsion
     and our curled hands
stained blue.
Red, the color of sighs
on the bedroom floor
after three hours
of staring.
     Four hours in wet
shoes, stuck between
freezing and scraping
away the heat of our
blood-oaths.
     Sunsets lost
to kaleidoscope eyes—
        Tell me how to spill
        over words you'll understand.

Wanting

She never took her hand
for granted.
Gold and silver
balanced on her toes—
she left her lovers
charcoal in the pit.

Because

In desperation,
I leave words carved
into IHOP napkins
and left on nightstands.
I would carve into the western
cedar, but my pen
is dull.  I leave
with words dripping
down the hall in carbon-
dioxide crystallized
in blue-green,
hard-hit carpet and stains.
I will never come here again.
We should be ashamed
of the beauty we committed,
heavy and humid at 4 A.M.
The oxygen will find us
each again.

Sleep Texts

Where the earth
meets the fire
and bubbles from
the wet soil in
gaslight orbs.
Send songs of
hope to keep me
occupied. My
breath UNSENT
a blinking mind.
My blue fingers
and your sweet
lips. What send
you now that we
have occupied
this space twice
in a night?
Devotion. You
say. To always
read your texts.