You've got a painful grip
on reality, with those
sun-burnt palms from
waiting with arms wide open
for someone to come back to you.

The sky unfolds before
your dry eyes
in layers and miles
of deceit and lies,
as the sun becomes the moon,
smiling borrowed light
down upon you.

Ridiculing your commitment.

Mocking your hallucinating mind
with illusions of grandeur,
and false relief,
in the face of the great grief
you hold so closely
to your heart.

I love you like this.

I love you when the curtains are drawn
and the light pours down around you
like an electrical hurricane.

I love you in the morning dawn
waiting for love to ground you,
while soaring through the pain.

I was born with swollen feet
from pacing the floor of my mother's womb
trying to figure out whether
I was conceived far too soon.

I think women are dead
until they live for me.