Do you know my name?
I don’t go by one,
but the pressure’s been on
ever since I wanted to
kiss you last December,
when I thought about
ripping off your necklace
like a cat on the precipice
of some liminal space.
-
Do you know my name?
The muddled word rings hollow
when it matters most.
If it matters at all.
This question lies at the heart
of my choking, begging me
to wash my hands.
-
Do you know my name?
I ask three times to beg you
not to answer; there’s a hole at the
bottom of the ocean swallowing
creatures we’ll never discover.
The floor is covered in the remains
of memories she’ll forget once grown,
but the flood won’t be lost on me.
I’ll remember for her;
I’ll love her in the forgetting.
Bodies keeping score of joys
fading with time, getting heavier
every moment.
-
A thousand words to recollect
a lifetime of laughing recklessly
through the dying.
A thousand words to smile
in the face of angst.
A thousand words to show
that love is relentless.
-
She sings while grabbing empty bottles
I pulled from the night before
as the clocks reset;
as my mind went brown;
as nothing was made new.
The guilt of loving someone
willing to make sacrifices back
is unbearable; she shouldn’t
have seen me like that but
loves me despite manic moments.
This is all I could wish for.
