Devious Rosebud

I wept and you just stood there

watching me

eat my own heart.

It tasted sweeter

than blueberry pie

in the Summer. 

But this isn’t about me.

It’s about you. 

How you wound yourself up

and set yourself on a shelf

for display. How you eat

from ceramic bowls

with a wooden spoon and spin

tales of the miraculous healing

leaves of nature. How you lift veils,

unlock safes, find treasure in the clouds

even when there’s no ex

to mark the spot. 

You are no ordinary rosebud,

you devious rosebud,

you do not stand there looking pretty 

in the midst of beauty.

Sandbox Moon

I am thinking too much, wanting

to call you. I am imagining the afternoon

and all the places we’ll play. I am seeing

all the faces watching and jealous

of our fun.

I am wondering why you’re not

texting me back, calling me

back. I know you’ll tell me eventually,

‘I’ve got meetings tomorrow’,

‘I have to wake up early’,

‘I want to be alone’. I know

what no response means.

I want you to be alone

with me. I want you to feel

like you are recharging

while I am in the room. 

I want you to sleep over and sleep

like there was no one in the bed

with you (although I am in the bed).

I am feeling like I’m pressuring

you when at the base, simplest level

it is just this driving feeling of wanting 

to be with you, absorb your energy, touch

your skin, hear your thoughts, cook

and eat with you. 

It’s just the most childish desire

to like someone and want to play

all the time. And for it to never stop;

to ignore the sunset and stay out

in the sandbox with you 

for just five more minutes.

A Moon of Wanting

Every day I wake up

wanting and every night

I go to sleep wanting more.

Want is an undying candle, impossible

to blow out, impossible to ignore,

sometimes loved, sometimes hated,

always there, burning. 

Sometimes the ghosts

of previous relationships and states

of being, that once quelled

the wanting, come back and haunt,

overwhelmingly so. 

But now, there it is again, this feeling

and image that

if only I could lay here

on the couch, wrap my arm around

your chest, feel your back press

into me, your legs curl up

around mine, the touch of my lips

on the back of your ear

through your hair, 

then the wanting would disappear

as the sun set at 4:45pm

and the soft light touching

the books on the bookshelf,

the instruments on the wall,

the stillness covering us like a blanket,

would fade into darkness.