The other end of my phone is empty echoing your voice mail, each evening your name is locked in time, the space I knew I could call you mine, the days I wasn’t asking: Where are you love, my love, my God, where have you gone, what have you done and who knows how to hold you with the caress of their words when the world splinters in the quiet? […]
Before you, there were women with full breasts, breasts with perk tips and beneath them: hips wide as my hand spread, but never love. Athenas before you, my eyes only followed the apples; and then, suddenly: A wild brook unleashed and I never knew I was a basin meant to be filled. A women sewn from the smile of Coyote, from the same hands that bent time and created life […]
He tried to churn my grief into sex, my still form, so much as butter, hardly mobile, his lips and tongue whipped fast – What am I now? A sleepless waste gone sour. I cannot touch I cannot trust I cannot at all get past the sudden arrest of wrongness, the moment stolen when close to worn-out peace, the rancid of a salted stick – My mouth I cannot taste. […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 