I will brand your name into my fingerprints.
I will burn the very memory of how to loop
the a’s and the e’s and the i, o, u’s into one,
within the tip of my unblemished flesh. There,
I will remember you.

For Time marches forth, to an uncompromising beat,
drums crashing to a rhythm that I cannot comprehend,
where every moment is a heartbeat in an ancient man,
where the Inevitable arrives like waves in the Pacific,
accompanied by the Tsunami of Incomprehensibility,
showered by the rains of Uncompromising Momentum.

The etymology of your name,
tattooed across too-thin ribcage,
while a drunken stranger explores
crevices that you marked with your touch.
When they ask me who you were, I will smile,
and remember how my name felt across your tongue.

When they press my fingers to unassuming white paper,
they will see, imbedded in spirals and swirls, the words
that carried the cosmos inside them, and the words
that used up too many heartbeats of a girl with
years left to live.

I will brand your name into my fingertips,
and I will remember the way the stars exploded when we
kissed. 

2:56 am  •  4 June 2012  •  64 notes

I will purge your poetry from my heart.

I will forget that with the same fingers
that traced along rosebud lips,
you carved sonnets into my ivory ribcage.
I must unlearn the rhyming couplets
you would send to my mailbox,
on a Tuesday morning, nine o’clock,
every week / without fail

(except one time, two years ago,
when your mother lay in hospital,
exhaling breaths laced with history). 

In darkened corners of the city library after dark,
I would read the yellowing strips of paper
that you wrote your love letters on.
Your thoughts flowed in fountain pen ink,
the paper thin & heavy with ink
where you crossed out mistakes,
where you had written an untruth,
where you wrote for her & not me.

I will hide in the hidden spaces of the night,
recollecting laboured sighs, while I listen to
the stars murmur to one another. 
Their voices resound throughout my lungs
and I will let the rain (falling as it has been,
these past three years) cleanse me.

I will undertake a baptism of emptiness.

Perhaps,
if I stand beneath the sky long enough,
I will melt away, like the ink of your poetry,
falling from yellowed strips of paper,
evanesced.  

2:35 pm  •  2 June 2012  •  51 notes

We were naked beneath the sky,
with the darkness caressing our coolsweat skin,
the trees, ancient, murmuring,
susurrations echoing with our moans.  

We made love while the moon watched,
full in her roundness, the smooth curve of a woman’s hips.
You traced craters & moonbeams over my flesh
with your tongue. We breathed, and I cried out,

Luna, Luna, 

a holy prayer that ripped apart the Silence.

The stars shed tears,
essential moisture drifting from the highest heights
to land softly on pale skin. I inhaled the stardust
off your collarbone, like cocaine, a sweet rush
thrumming along arteries.

I hold the stars
within my lungs. You hold the moon
within your eyes,
and you set the sun on fire between my
treeroot thighs. 

10:55 am  •  2 June 2012  •  73 notes