Funnel Hands

It will take time
            to pack away
the thoughts you breathed into me,
hands cupped around my ear.
I took               your loaded words
straight to my four-chambers.
I let my guard down
            and you in

to my fortress

I swallowed you      entirely
and knew you like the alphabet
In my soup

You held my hands         led me
through your labyrinth mind
and I learned

the way you played
that guitar song
eyes squeezed shut
I felt          your sweet sigh
on my neck
from across the room
I craved it like
the backs of my eyelids

You knew what you were doing
when you left            
with my feeble heart
beneath your jacket
You ran          like raindrops
and smeared my face

I stomped away my own shadow
And vomited         everything
you gave to me

It will take time
to rearrange the word magnets
on my fridge
To say something that
Doesn't remind me of
Butterflies          flying out
Your open throat

That oven heat afternoon

That park bench facing

That ugly blue dragon statue

That stares right back

Vision skewed by audible sobs

Fallen head

Anchored between my knees

I was sinking

Into the ground

Where the dragon couldn’t see

What you had to.

I stood between

You and the door

I was hysterical

Like a child

Begging you to

Please stay,

A thousand times sorry,

Just stay

And then you left behind

An open wound

Never fully sewn up

Kitchen Cigarettes

This is a short story. Tell me what you think.

Shift

The sun just past the sleepy horizon.

Dots blanketing the sky fade with the night.

Soft, tired eyes waking with the day’s dawn

As drowsy mountains crave morning’s light.

The quiet, meditative murmur of his steady breathing,

Hazy dreaming.

Half the world lay in still slumber.

Even while you rest, I see your mind wander.

Rays illuminate the room, not yet ours,

Shapes and shadows inching across beige walls.

Rub the night away from your eyes;

You are even more divine than the sunrise.

Up in Flight

Up in the air, Up above it all, soaring.

Playground sandbox mountains,

thumb-sized cities.

A quilt of green, each patch a different hue,

Sewn together with

Needle and thread of

Cars and dirt roads.

Up above the clouds,

Up in flight,

Up in height.

Flying so high, so high,

The tiny earth below,

And me,

A giant!

And then the seatbelt sign alights,

Heart sinking as the world grows larger

And we descend through the blanket of cotton

And me, saddened, because I liked feeling that tall.

I Am Not A Tree

With summer’s demise,

Veneer from green to red to black, no longer mine.

Leaves leave and fall with fall

From my arms to the ground in heaps,

Then raked away

By winter the garment bandit.

Shriveled and shivering,

No coat to keep me cozy.

The night’s curtain

Blanketing the sky,

Black boughs bare until spring warmth

Bears new garb.

Once again

No longer naked

And the thief returns,

Apologetic,

Adorning me with song birds

Amongst budding flower.

It’s quite alright,

I forgive you,

And I stretch my arms upward

Into the warm sun.

Love Bagels

You turn over my hands,

Handing me a million reasons to

Hand you my affection.

You touch the small of my back,

A tiptoeing rush sent

From your fingertips

All the way up my spine,

Sifting through the subway labyrinth,

Together,

Lost amidst the potpourri of people.

You give me emptied wine glasses stained

With midnight laughter.

You are my Paris,

San Francisco,

Spain,

Italy,

The entire New York cityscape.

I lie next to you,

Watch your sleepy eyes sigh,

The weight of your propelling intellect at rest,

And I lose you to

The muffled roar of

Crashing salt waves,

An infinite tide

From the depths of your belly.

Our love,

Cupped but not contained,

Growing but still new,

Fragile but never broken.

I want to kiss every part of your face

Without you knowing

As you hazily drift in and out,

Back and forth.

You give me the scent of toasted bagels in the morning.

Cream and sugar in my coffee;

You

In equal amount

Offer me comfort and desire.