a blue bird twines
of wire
where sunflowers grow
your air is twisted
like she
unthawed
in your
affection
an aroma far
from lonely
i find dizziness
underneath
liquor
we are empty
never simultaneously
the glass is warped
i’ve stood here forever
waiting
for the
freeze to pass
Helios in
a winter solstice
unconquered
I am fire and light
come to me
Welcome home, a strawberry plant
grows out back
for you, but it
has twisted to fingernails
to scratch away the bugs.
It has a heart, ready for transplant.
I promised to die,
I admit, I’m in the habit,
but it just sat in one spot,
sucking on water cells
reminding me what it
would feel like to overheat.
Now you are here, hiding in
the desert, my fruit not fertile
enough for you
to eat.
So, you say it’s the center of time,
one hand holds it,
the other says good-bye.
The night is thick with hot lead,
bullet dust. His empty pockets
strangle his hands that once were full
with pride.
Beer drips from his words, he buries his head six-feet deep in my lap. Catching the scent of love, he moves faster than tomorrow.
I laid out my arms,
and across the world to make it,
but his poison comes with the smallest gesture,
his lips against my back, a
hot cyanide whisper as he rises,
“I’m sorry.”
He throws on his shadow like an old jacket, hands back in his pockets.
5 a.m. I’m alone.
Face down in a puddle of his poison, I drown.
Tomorrow will catch up with me,
I’ll eat the sun for breakfast.
The earth will grow wild berries
and he will come to find me,
on a Hot Sunday,
melting lead
back into bullets,
he’ll spread my arms by my wrists, untangle my naked fists, furious at his abandon…
but, for him, I will lay across the world to make it,
Your good beauty is suffering
on my nightstand. Here, you are
gray sand; a sleeping portrait
framed for mortality, unworthy
of a name.
I miss that one sunset. I gathered you
after the rain;
a bouquet of loose eyes
and tight words. My hair curled
around my face.
I watched you watch the sun
burst around my pupils
and we both wanted…
Then,
you were distinct like
wet leaves crushed under our feet,
like stained lips’ plumb kiss.
Silent admissions were made
under our spirited breath.
I inhaled for
you, exhaled for…
I did you no wrong.
We made storms that carved
time and
broke wind chimes.
I painted your hands over mine,
then erased them.
You gave up.
Since,
seasons have exchanged
heated glances; volcanic disregard
erupted from our mouths, but
there were not words,
and silence could have been generous,
but it was not. Not
to you,
nor to I.
That season has come back and I feel
the sunset waiting,
time has dug a cave in
new clouds.
I am silent no more,
my voice is a proud thunder
I am waiting for you!
maggiemaeijustsaythis 