My Untouchable Face

The violence of light
ending in a field.
The blue smell
of darkness
the wind carries.
The rending of the sky
by the movement
of crows.

My love soars
to the very marrow of heaven
and, there, it is buried
in a hole so deep
no one in their right mind would ever look for it.
I wrap it in white linen
just as I would wrap a lover or an enemy.
I trash it after everyone is gone.
I feel like hell
but I still have my sense of humor.
You always underestimate me, my love.
But I am the one who warns you to beware
of friends bearing gifts of sleep…
or smiles…
or peace.

They will steal your face.
They will bury you in rust.

I would rather have been
a finer grain of intoxicant,
enough to fuel moon rockets
beneath your skin.

You would rather have dared
to reach for more meaning,
holding out the courage of a straw man
playing with matches.

On nights like this,
a skeleton key turns
inside me,
singularity’s bony fingers
wrapped around my throat.

Darkness in my
pocket,
hell inside.
Oh, a thousand
lovers,
all eyes.

I cover you

With hands that

Travel

Over easy elegance

Heated palms

That make their way

To the embers

And hover

Like burning magnets

Between your ribs

And heart

Trees of fallen leaves
Diligently fight against
Our human tempest

if blues were shoes
I’d be barefoot before I start
walking in or out of
your life

if lips were song
I’d never go wrong
& stay stuck on your breath
mouth to mine in a circle of fifths

if blues were shoes
I’d walk a million miles
& still not be through
my map of trap