I felt the arms length

The gentle but firm

Boundary

This is where you stop

It said. 

No further, now. 

I lean in and feel 

the cool concrete

Of your wall 

The rough texture 

On my cheek

The silence

In my ear

No one gets in from here. 

Tuesday

Having a new lover is incredibly distracting.
I am sitting in a very important meeting,
for a very important project
maybe the biggest we've done.
And all I can think about is the envelopes in my bag,
one a reward, the other a punishment—

The things I want to do to your body.
The things I want you to do to mine.
We're still new, though, there are still
nerves. Anxiety.

A microphone squeals and reality snaps me back momentarily. 
The speaker drones on and my mind wanders...

It's been a week since I saw you.  

Will I be as dominant as you want me to be? 
Will it still be electrifying? Will it be awkward?
Or will there be enough familiarity in the strangeness,
to find the easy space where our lips and bodies
already know each other. 

It's all I can do to stay focused today.
I only want to be in your bed. In you.
I wonder if you are as restless,
watching the clock, aching for my touch,
or if it's just another Tuesday.  

there's the me
that knows you,
that sees you

that you
unlocks this me
I like him better. 
he likes you more. 

There you are, 
I see you now. 

You take the shards of yourself

and run them across my face. 

the placid, frozen-smile, carefully in place

Happy. So happy. You cut me 

You don't wait around, to watch me bleed. 

You don't care, you wouldn't dare 

I look after you, and know I should run 

Back to you, I wanna run back to you

I feel it, I feel it. 

Broken people cut me

and sometimes I like it. 

Broken people cut me

and sometimes I like it. 

You drag your words, across my tongue

I know I ought to turn and run, 

You cut away the fake 

Broken people cut me. And sometimes, 

I like it. 

I feel it.

Deeply. 

Am I an emptional maschochist?

How can joy compare?

It's not as sharp. You can't

cut me with a spoon

You need the thin, razor edge

to bleed.

Feeling something

is better than feeling nothing. 

Purgatory

 Everything is brown. 

Dust gives everything a shabby feeling. 

It coats everything and transports you

back

in time—or ahead to an apocalyptic future

where nothing green grows anymore. 

Dust is time passing. 

Evidence. 

A surrender to futility. 

There's no color anymore. 

I don't recognize
the version of me
that was in love
with you. 

Phoenix

I am tormented

by my love for you. 

It burns me.

It consumes me.

I'm embarrassed. 

I really ought to know better by now. 

Sparks

and fire 

and ice

It burns.  

Cohesion doesn't make sense. 

This, doesn't make sense. 

Cohesion doesn't explain

the delight in longing,

the lust and self-loathing

that loving you brings. 

I will die in the fire of all of this. I know it. 

It's a dangerous game, loving you. 

It burns. 

I am burning. 

Ashes.

And then the spark,

lights...

And my torment

my love,

begins again.