my teeth
sink into
instant coffee
cautiously; this will
never be the same
unless you are here.

            i might pick up
            a cigarette and
            a bible in the same
            breath,
            i still love you
                 all the same.

being alone has
taught me that
i miss you even
when i don't,
i want everything to feel
                                        close again.

you are as soft as sunlight
as yellow as summer night:
hold onto this freedom.

cranberry strings
laced into bedsheets:
mother has only
just learned to sew,
and father breathes
slowly from a snowing
world.
     sleep is different.
     i lay with a solstice
     tongue pressed to
     the roof of my waiting
     mouth
     and
     wonder
     who else
     has been resting in
     place.

three hours pass
i am waiting for you
parked car in a pool of
yellow-longing light:
black cat treks across the
lot, i want you to be done,
want my coffee to be cool.

besides you i think
gas station coffee
is my long lost
love

crawl into bed
coffee stained sheets
i don't **** strangers
i don't bring tea to bed
not anymore
don't bring myself to bed
can't sleep in bed