Things I Can Never Tell Him, or You, or Him, or Me pt. 1

I lay in my bed with her,

And her wrist is tiny in my grasp,

I can see her veins running

Up and down her arm,

Trying to flee the memories found in her touch.

She looks younger when she sleeps,

When she’s not worried about the scars on her shoulders

Or her back

And about not pleasing me enough.

The plumpness of her lips on mine is all I can think about

As little tendrils of air enter and leave her partially opened mouth.

The alcohol in my system is eroding my brain

And I won’t remember this tomorrow,

But as we lay here in my bed,

Her back curled up into my stomach

Her wrist tiny in my grasp,

All I can think about is how I could fall in love with her

Under a cloudy rainy summer sun.

I hooked up with a girl in a car once.

More of a lady, I would say,

Beautiful with full lips and large sea-green eyes,

She was wet when I touched her.

I first kissed her in a fluorescent bathroom,

It was rather clean,

And I took her against the wall

And squeezed her breast in my hand,

I felt her bite my lip and groan in my mouth.

After she drove me home

And I lay in my pink bed,

All i wanted to do was to write to you,

A little cyber text in a little cyber mess

And tell you about what I had done,

And how that I was sure that if you came to kiss me

At that moment,

I would taste a little bit like victory,

A little bit like shame.

I touched a naked woman in a car once,

And our breath moistened the air,

But even in all her naked glory

Writhing in my arms as the radio played some gritty blues,

All I could think of was writing to you

To tell you that I was still waiting for you.

You’re still the first name on my list of contacts,

Well the first under D.

I pray for you every day,

Except the past three days,

But I’ll make up for that tomorrow.

It’s hard to pray for you

Waking up at 3 pm at his house

After a night of beer

And sex

And celebration

That lasts way past the birds chirping in the dawn.

He shuts the window because they annoy him,

The birds,

And as I look down at my phone

With its battery at 27%

And your name still first on my list under D,

I can’t bear to tell him

That the only man I ever loved

Would call me his little song bird,

And make my name rhyme with sparrow.

Don't go around building igloos in the sand.

That's common sense, I would think,

to build houses that last,

unlike the roof that covered our hearts,

fragile it was,

paper thin wafers and candy coated shells

providing poor comfort from the

rains of pride and lust

that poured from the bar on the street corner,

the same bar you lost your favourite tie in

when you took it off to kneel before a girl

in front of the elephants in the back room.

She tasted like the way I smelled on a rainy day.