poem on the door - i will not apologize.
That’s a pretty fairy tale you spun for yourself
it was just the wine I’m sure.
why else would you tell the truth?
not without something to blame it on.
It was the Malbec, your eyes opening my legs,
your delicately woven fragments-
shameless statements punctuation can be held
What do you say for the teeth marks
below my ear? Just an accident of gravity?
Stop apologizing for yourself,
come back to the garden.
You’re inviting vultures into the yard,
careful what you plant.
Blame the organic farmers dusk-bound bare-
feet marching circles in barrels of blackberries
plum, hints of clove dripping down shoulder blades
as moon ferments spirits into wine.
I will hide in tree houses reading Brother’s Grimm
watching from atop your Disney expedition for artifacts
instead of studying the archeology of yourself.
Blame Beauty and the Beast for his perception
of conquer instead of feast,
claim I misunderstood you
when your tongue rode the curve of my lips
like a one-way mountain path to truth,
I wont argue with you to defend myself.
I cut down the wildflowers because you gazed
into them, now even the Black-eyed Susans
know how far you dream from him in bed,
they couldn’t bare it either – they took
poppies with them so as not to disturb
their natural state of ecstasy.
daisies stretch toward the freeway
listening for you, limp before noon
growing down a cracked-open pot
in knotted gold straw locks-
dead when you touch them,
blame them for missing your exit.
it was the tallest chard that tricked you
into thinking my spine was endless,
you surrendered to exploring again,
you said, “let me find your roots
so I can taste them,”
prelude to an empty morning.
Your mouth is a premonition
you keep trying to change against my skin,
the scent of me becomes the oils of your
desire, collecting in wet pools, waiting
for you to test the temperature
mixing with sweat of a new morning
no more than the scent of us knowing
we must change history
by loving when we know
we will lose everything
but will no longer be fairy tales
or invisible lovers, someone
in some future city will know us
be how freely their hands fall
into one another, we are the dust
they will crave at sunset
and the reason they kiss open-
mouthed in full sunlight.