Under The Eucalyptus

Prelude:

you don’t know me anymore,

but you know the curve of the body persists— hands pressed into the sheets breath pressed into the pillow shadows arched against the wall all this time still it lingers, tangled in the threads between the start and the end.

Night

you don’t know me anymore

but night  but crumbs but witching hours leave you honest and when the moon kisses the corners of your room a phantom invites itself into bed and you cup yourself into the nook of a memory, loneliness rising and falling, dreaming a dream  where nostalgia doesn’t feel like an open wound.

Day

When the day breaks, rub me from your eyes,  promise promise you will, after all

Define, insanity; doing the same thing and expecting different results. so, we were crazy about each other. 

you are, an empty room an echo an apparition, not something to be worshiped, not sorry 

/

My lips press together, sit on the edge of my nerves and at the bar next to you We discuss salt, i mean us. say we want to stay friends. don’t mean it.  I drive you home, say goodbye and it is the only truth left between us.

/

love does not exit slowly, it flings you from a fucking rollercoaster but not matter what I say the next day, I mean it, I’m in for the long haul. I can’t wait for the concrete to shatter my teeth, for the pain, i’ll bear it all just to unstitch your name out of my mouth. 

/

they always talk about foundation and baby they were right. concrete won’t do us any good, there isn’t enough lies that can put the truth back together, though you tried. i always saw through it, and but when someone yells louder than your gut, you start to believe you’re wrong. it makes me queasy, how convincing you are. but it always came out, the mushrooms call the truffle pig. 

oink oink. hope it was it worth it.

/

truth is, this was way overdue. 

truth is i never wrote you a love poem, or not that many, or none that i could finish, or none that i wanted to share or none that i am willing to dig up. 

truth is, most the time goodbye at our fingertips, at any given moment, and that is no way to live, certainly no way to finish a love poem. 

these are my late-night-blog-entries-hope-i-don’t-regret-this, these are the things I will deny if you ask me if this is about you, these are my confessions the Truth is I was never all the way in,  not really

you see, fear has a strong pull & I pulled back  & there is nothing like a strangers bed to soften losing a tug of war  to slow the burn out

I never told you, I turned towards an exit Truth is  I loved you but I didn’t want to  Truth is I didn’t quite know how Truth is I lied

we can’t exist inside lines, we’ve tried, we divulge

in and out, smearing the easel, we love

and fuck and love and blur unrecognizable

when you say you love me, I feel the devine wind, fangs against the carotid, and it is

Some nights I snap violently awake, midnights tenuity offering no distractions. Nothing between the lonely moon and I to quell your absence, only surrender.   

Despite the tears that protest, you are sanctioned to memory. I miss your voice impossibly so and the void tugs at all corners as the last time I said hello stretches across the room

and I am powerless  as life dances around me

so beautiful