Thursday, July 31, 2008

I will no longer cradle Your eyes in My arms, the tears 
Streaming down like fierce waterfalls there 
to the pockets of Your skin, creased. I do not 
care about Your broken hearts or sprained ankles. 
Your bruised legs. 
I want to be alone in this 
blackness, away from the yellow 
and purpled life with You. And Your jokes and candles 
and dinners and rings. 

It will go away slowly, like crying 
in the bathtub. The water from My eyes 
and disappears there amongst the luke warm womb. 

1 comment:

Jay said...

Finally had a chance to ctach up to your eyes and ears and nose and lips. i realize the long nights in your sockets, the summer spread like a sweet jam, a stick of butter softening on the windowsill, your parade of emotions and letting-goes. I realize how it's left you so.

emily dickinson for the girls at lights out, anais nin for my lesbian friends, and the boys get lessons of scars and scratches on the forest floor -- pine for some space to adore the stars.

how far have you cast your net and when will the evening sun go down?