tracing these moments

trace my fingers
over the bank of your ribs,
body carved open
along the green of the grass,
teeth smiling white
against the blue of the sky.
i need to swallow you down
this summer, your breath
hot in my ear, your hands
trailing down the length of my back
as i let myself fall open
into you, eyes wild,
skin burning
as we trace these moments
around the lake.

More of a Poet

I think I’m more greedy

than you can imagine,

spread out and dyed,

smothered in the freshly baked pages

of imagery gone wild,

swinging out across the sand.

I want to swallow and taste

the bitter hue

of words gone sour

in the library of our thoughts composed,

boiled, shredded and baked

in the oven of our small apartment.

I’ve got the sensation

of all your angles and panes

stamped across my tongue

despite my actions of trying to

scrape myself clean of you

with a bloody knife.

I’ve got you printed deep within

the pages and painted

across my skin,

despite my horror.

I’ll never see your grimace,

your smile, your laugh

carved and curled around the words.

I’m expecting myself to write fantasy

in which you don’t exist,

the wall are white

and the sheets are clean.

You’re more of a poet than

I am though,

for I can still feel your presence

moving inside me.

Confession

06/17/12

There's the gap in my chest
as my ribs are slowly pried apart,
my lungs gasping for air,
my mouth dry as I try to swallow
my heart down deep into my chest
before it bursts.
I can't believe I said that
to you.