.If This Was A Book.

I could pause and put you down;
It would make a change to be the one that's
Up. Up, I could make coffee, mull it
Over.
When I get stuck on
Something you say, I could
Keep you like a bookmark, keep
You there until I think of a
Comeback. I could come back
When I'm stronger and read
Exactly
What you said
So I could throw every word in your face.

Then I could rewrite you, so you would say
Everything I want to hear.

But this isn't a book, and you are
Nothing but a chapter so I climb
Down and put you
On the shelf. I turn my
Back and reach for
Someone else.

.Sunglasses In Bed.

Grasshopper glances are not fair so early in the morning

When the footprints of my dreams have not yet faded.

My smile is still fresh,

My palms outstretched,

and I forget, again,

to wear sunglasses.

At night I say, 'You can stay here all day,

tangling your breath with mine. I promise you

coffee, gollywog black,

and arctic showers,

Just as long as you leave me

More broken lemon tree branches,

And don't mind if I wear

sunglasses in bed.'

.Morning After Chill.

Shaking, marble grey, as the restlessness of having
nothing to itch hits seven years late. Skin is tight,
S t r e t c h e d like a smile
Under hands that are hungry and weak.

There is laughter between my legs
As I reach for something I do not understand.

Morning lips find me, draping like ivy but I
wince, coffee bitter, though I should be
open to this, since it’s been
a while since I’ve had a spoonful of
sugar.