open

let me open the body

red along the lines of my lung

scoop my hands together

to the axis of your heart

as the world tilts sideways

when i move in to kiss you

let me open my body

lock my fingers within 

the shallow indents of my hips

bend forward at the waist 

and breath slowly

through the pain and the beat

and the kiss of it all

let me open your body

straddle the width of your hips

run my fingers through your hair

and breathe deeply

almost enough to meld you to me

so i will never have to let go

when sleep approaches

because i can count the beat

of the moments until morning

trace the lines of your jaw

and scrape my nail gently

along the curve of your ear in a shiver

of delight

and by the end of it

i am gloriously happy

The Bloody Lover of Time

Tick Tock.
There's a deep beating of a
bloody clock
nailed to the wall.
You're a nest breaker
with the cracking of the eggs
underneath the thin layer of static
we're walking on.
There's a stretching sensation
of time spreading thin
as the cells snap, breaking
and drowning within the bruises.
I delight in the sadistic side of your love
as I watch it bouncing down
the steps and into the glass,
smashing and cracking
the delicate frame
you've placed yourself in.
Tick Tock.
Tick Tock.
It's not as if you can rip
the hands apart,
smashing the fingers as they stretch towards the hours.
We can break the eggs
and drink the yokes,
letting them run yellow down
the fronts of our clothes,
soaking and dying,
molting and shredding
the remains of this
broken relationship
while mixing a glass of
wine.

Scream

I want you to listen to the
scream trapped beneath the surface
of your skin,
feel the bubble rising up into the sky
and burst with the realities of
this relationship ending.
Because, because I'll lick it clean when nobody's watching,
simmer in the sweet, kiss back the wounds,
seal it all up while trying to block the sounds
of dying
that echo through these compartment days.
I want you to realize, I want you
to taste the bruises on the underside of
the white picket fence,
drink the dirt down, swallow the garden whole and
pluck the feathers of this dream apart and cook it raw,
Because, because you never know
the sensibilities of emptiness dying,
your body crying the tears that come with
the blue pain of nightmares,
while the voice grows softer still.
I want you to listen to the
scream trapped beneath the surface
of your skin and
realize
that this is the end.