Crossing the Line.

You learn a lot about a person from drawing them, I have found.

His eyes are wide-set, single-lid, light. Eyebrows parallel mostly, a bit more shading under the lower lids, there where he stays out at night. His face doesn't hold so many shadows but the light source is questionable. There are lines around his mouth when he smiles -- bone structure; I like the skin that stretches over it and the creases they fold into.

His neck is shaded darker, lines here and here and here. Here, rumples in his shirt; he is slouched forward slightly. Set his shoulders a fair width, not too far, wrinkles where his arms bend, where his sleeves are rolled, darker where his muscles hollow. Trace the pockets by the forearms, crumpled forward the way he is leaning, buttons dark against minimal lighting. The four lines on the lap of his pants.

We have barely spoken but I see him smiling with just his top row of teeth; details I cannot copy. For all my trying, he will never be whole here. Here, leather-bound and hollow-mouthed. Here, charcoal on a yellowing page.

Doors

made some time ago

If we can’t run away from our problems, this country will collapse under the weight of all its monsters. So let me keep running.

Door ajar.

I want to wring myself dry of you. 
I want to stand at the edge of your window sill and see the world again.
I want to hang myself from rooftops until I am no longer afraid. 
I bound your wrists and stitched you shut but
when I left the room, I left it open -

I despise the mornings of your shoulders I cannot wake to.
I wish I could kiss our disjointed bridges, the soft hinges
of your knees, the loud crack of your knuckles in the dark,
a bad habit, a self-portrait.

Your life spills from me in tones I don't understand,
a language that isn't mine; the tongue of two people.
I pray for absolution,
In faith I will be consoled to be without you again.

As of late

It's been awhile now, hasn't it. Here's one just to end the drought. 

Destroy thyself,

How then,
the singular vague commandment twisting like bracken vines
two birds with one stone, maybe three, a flock
by the end of the world, I will have you
on your side crazily rocking the rocking of a hundred geological chairs
ash and boulder -- where did i go wrong

How then,
slices of restrain, the cuts and scratches clawing deteriorate
drive this horrible rental off the side of my pristine path-paved mountain
made entirely of powder, press them against your cheeks as
there
the blood will stain the ballgowns gathered at the foot of my rocktower

How then,
in my voicelessness, refusing to tremble before you, high and mighty
suffocating drowning in years lost to being closet-kept
unwilling, don't don't don't don't don't all the lives i cannot have
the answer kept gut-deep, bones rattling, with all the things I have been forced to swallow.

what good does light if not in the darkness.

Un Settled

I can feel the ocean from the sand on your skin.