Last

I am not going to share this with you.

Never

going to speak aloud,

only write

and write

and write.

I will share it with the world,

handwriting in print,

stamped with my heart,

authentic.

I will share those thoughts,

the ones you turned away from,

the ones that maybe

just maybe

just maybe-

I will share the events,

every moment

or silent step

or loud heartbeat

or quiet answer

or scripted scene

or word worth recording,

though there isn't much to tell.

Still, I want to know;

can you hear me?

I'm just wondering

where you are,

what you say

when you hear my name,

what you hear

when I write these words.

Tapping,

scrolling;

I imagine your fingers

pausing and tracing

the glowing lines

and the stupid hopes

poured into these pieces.

Pieces,

small,

unique,

alone.

I'm done with this.

Whether or not

your eyes chance upon

a memory or two,

who cares?

It's all gone now,

flowed from my fingertips forth onto the paper

a while ago;

this, now,

this is the very

last

drop.

with me

breathe
softly quietly
beneath the shadow and the shiver
of this sensation
as my eyes close and slowly roll
back into my head
my neck tilting to the side
as i gasp
the memory of the moment
a fresh chill along my skin
that i am incapable
of overcoming
i can still feel you with me
on me
in me
around me
long after you're gone

Where I Started

I don't feel

present

in the moment.

Looking from the outside in

and yet

trapped

inside my body.

Handwriting,

familiar;

voice,

silent;

thoughts,

ignored.

A few steps behind;

a few steps,

and I'm right back where I started.

In this past year I have become dormant,

confidence

invested somewhere safe

and then left behind,

no trail,

no evidence.

Only me.

Now, among these tall trees,

emerging buds

and flowers,

faces tipped toward the sun,

I lie down.

Eyes closed,

I surrender

to who I used to be;

almost willingly,

with an ease that scares me.

And I'm right back where I started.

fuck

and this is different.
or not.
fuck.
you should push me,
grab me, bite me,
break me, pry me
open along the bed,
kiss me, stroke me,
hold me
together,
still. i keep expecting
something, as if the world
should have shattered,
i should have cried,
whether from complication,
fear or embarrassment, i am not sure.
yet this is normal, almost,
for i am still faintly left
with the rocking sensation
of your inhabitance of my body,
the beat of my heart in knowledge
of the act, the churn of my mind
in remembrance.
fuck.
you should push me,
grab me, bite me,
break me, pry me
open along the bed,
kiss me, stroke me,
hold me
together,
still.
for i do not feel to have lost
myself yet.

Cold Coffee

and now here i am

writing poetry about you

in tim hortons

i've sunk this low

may as well keep going

extend the metaphor

except

we are not symbolic

we are real

or at least my mind thinks we were

and i'm usually right

so

who are you to say i'm wrong?

except you didn't

you just didn't say anything

and that's what makes me think

i should be somewhere else

somewhere other than this table

growing green with moss and envy

bending over time and time again

to pick up that lucky penny

polishing it off and adding it to my pocket

saving up for another drink

so i can buy more time

waiting around

for another chance encounter with you

that i know won't amount to anything

but hey

i can try can't i?

i have that right and i use it

abuse it

and all for what?

here i am sitting at a table for two

and you?

you're somewhere else

like you've always been

never there in front of me

except when passing me by

giving me the eye

or

did i just imagine it?

i think i know what i'm talking about

but my predictions all put me in the same place

sitting here with a cup in front of me

slowly emptying

but never all the way

because i still say i've got time to wait

my watch is wrong

some excuse

to go along with my own stupid games

playing the lottery and losing

but each small compensation lifts me up

i'm so hopeful one day it's gonna kill me

and i'll die here

in tim hortons

with my cold coffee sitting in front of me

saying

i told you so

you should've finished me when you had the time!

and i'll know

i should've finished us when i had the time

maybe then we never would have been like this

skirting around each other

all awkward smiles

cold coffee

warmed up

is never the same as when it's fresh

Today

Today
I was inaugurated
          accepted
          kidnapped
without warning
and welcomed to the group

Today
I was participating
          helping
          co-operating
without warning
and welcomed to the group

Today
I was laughing
          smiling
          talking
without warning
and welcomed to the group

Today
I was welcomed
          questioned
          appreciated
without warning
welcomed to the group
and nobody found it
strange.

believe

and this time i believe you
as i inhale deeply, the scent of arousal
still clinging to my fingers, my body
awash with the small thrill of the moment,
your lips on my neck, your fingers
in my hair as we each breath raggedly together.
it's in the omission that it breaks me open,
the whisper in your voice as i run my tongue
along the side of your neck,
press my breasts down against your chest
and feel your hands solid
along the base of my spine
while i resist the urge to hold back
from allowing you to fuck me.
and you, along with the rest of my world,
will probably read this,
maybe as confession, a love poem,
a lie, the truth behind the curve of the computer screen,
but even at this point i find i have very little
to be afraid of by now,
not the lines of my body, the arc of my heart
and the span of my desire in relation
to my body and my mind and men.
for we've already reached the tipping point of resolution.
and i have been left with nothing to fear
by tomorrow.

More Than Skinny

You were always skinny.

always turning away

always hiding your face

always twisting your frame

You were always more than skinny,

not quite thin,

not frail,

not flimsy,

but more than just skinny.

Turning to the side,

I saw you;

as the light caught my eye,

I lost you;

in between the rays of sun

you hid,

as invisible as a smile

when one’s back is turned.

You disappeared,

you folded in on yourself,

you were more than skinny;

you were a magic act.

Now we see you-

now we don’t-

and that’s the story I’m sticking to.

And years passed,

and time ran by,

and seasons turned

and so you grew,

bulky

and strong

and proud in the torso,

capable in the arms,

different to the eyes

of those who paid no attention.

But to me you never changed.

Shoulders, still bowed,

like broken wings folding inwards;

Neck, still twisting,

escaping,

Face still shadowed,

still turned down to the ground

always turning away

always hiding your face

always twisting your frame

Never straight.

You were always skinny,

so easily bent,

so easily silenced,

so easily spent;

so strong yet so tired,

wired for work

but never for play.

Any day now

I expect you to turn

and disappear

between the cracks of the sunlight,

like a sheet of paper evades

real existence,

you will evade my persistence,

my insistence

that you could be more.

More than just skinny,

more than frail,

more than flimsy,

more than strong,

more than broken,

more than fixed;

more than lying.

You were always skinny,

always two steps behind;

but you were more than just skinny

in my mind.

and in the beginning

there was the word,
black upon the edge of my tongue
and sweet to the point,
as if by speaking i could remedy
the extent of the problem,
lick the salt from the wound of the page,
swallow
or spit the semen out, feel your fingers
hooked in the hair at the back of my neck
as i allow poetry
to tilt me back until i reach breaking point,
just far enough so i can see your eyes.
for there is nothing quite as pure
as this, the pinch and
the slide, the grab and the slap, the
break and the crunch of the moment
between my teeth as i recite
each line of this moment, the sounds
of the corners of my bones as they fuse together
at the base of my spine,
the soft whisper of a bite
along the shadow of my neck as i arch
to allow you easy, easy access.
i am still listening, and whispering,
and reciting the lines of this love
as i go over
the edge.