you're real, you're real, you're real, not just a dream,
not just a wish. as each cliche comes true,
the weight around my neck reminds that you
remain. persist. insist! we build this scene
complete in set, complete in lines: to speak,
to act, to house the hope that mounts each day
and hour we spend together. so smile, and say
you love-- you love!-- i'm still amazed. i seek
new ways to cause that laugh, to earn your heart
(unsure i'm worthy, i want to prove i am!).
i love the things i'd never be, if you
weren't there to force my hand... the work of art
my life becomes, painted by you: the lamb
that seeks the wolf, the lion protects the ewe.

the color grey; the fog that hangs all day;
the damp that creeps inside these walls; your hands
are pale, head hangs, eyes damp. you made these plans
to move, to grow, to own a life away
from all you knew. regret runs stronger than hope,
more dense than lead, unsettling deeper than you
express. the weight of this! keep it quiet, prove
the heart obeys the will. your mouth, your throat,
your hands bely the waning urge: don't count
the times you've gotten lost, the time you lost
to him while stuck inside this glamour, these streets.
just pack, ears wide, and listen across the hills:
love lies, love waits, love calls. here is the cost
of pride, but still: he waits for hands to meet.

truth is beauty, beauty truth-- this is
all white-lied in honest mouths, in hair
that smells like dye, the eyes, the parted pair
of reddened lips. what's hers is small, is his,
is gleaned from tired fields. the tabled salt
from turning back, the pillared woman who misses
home. she cries, and dries his feet, and kisses
skin of man and nothing more. still she exalts
the matriarch, the gloried slut, with beads
that turn in hands like spinning wheels. the chore
of love comes vain with pride: her face, her skin,
the halo bright with silver gild. she bleeds
in time, she waits to serve again. her core
is lost in white, the unoriginal sin.

this too shall pass, you must have faith, the lord
your god, your help in times of trouble, your hope
when money fails and people fail, the trope
of good and love: this too shall pass, you hoard
it up if you still can. the book still fails
to answer, fails to comfort, fails to show
your life for what it is. in death the glow
is strong, and shines for you in solar trails.
dear dying sun of my regret, please take
my past with you to lethe, to hell, i don't
care which. to freeze or burn or just to die,
it's useless now. the boiling blood, the lake
of fire, the river styx: the man and boat
who take me there, across a blackened sky.

actions speak louder than words.
hours and hours and hours, teens twenties thirties
i am getting OLD now.
labor day election day thanksgiving christmas:
winter, the first snows dropping down frigid
from cold grey skies.
do we sleep under the same constellations,
i couldn't tell you any more.
and i keep keep keep coming back and i always
always will, but every time
i regret it a little bit more.
when is it enough, the words and places
and miles and years, when is it going to be
satisfying, pure, drinkable?
i've been waiting, wasting my best on the worst
and i don't know what i have to offer
to anyone any more.
i'm farther than i've ever been.
tell me, are you up for the challenge?

i crave inclusion
let me sink into your bones
breathe inside your lungs