Leaking.
Darling, your love is leaking.
I hear it.
The drip drip drop.
Wakes me up at night.
Thinking didn't the faucet
Turned tight enough?
Or did I overturned it?
Till it's loose and
Leaking.
Darling, your love is leaking.

My mind keeps pictures of you up on its walls
                            again
                         ­         and again
I find my thoughts drifting down that river of memory
orbiting around you, like forces of gravity drawn
to the idea of us (if there even is an us)

If I could then I’d lock you outside my brain, leave you out there to rot
in the abyss, where your words couldn't penetrate me
and your lips that work like anesthesia forbidden to numb me again

I won't do you the injustice of romanticizing your imperfections
You're no nebular, you're a black hole, a gaping flaw in creation
Your eyes that held millenniums of history, now hold me no future

You made me forget what it feels to have stability
To not walk out of a room and forget why I left
You make me want to shred the skin you touched
Like a reptile, to become reborn, purified from my past.

There never were any butterflies in your stomach, only parasites
but you fed them to me readily like a disease

So no, I won’t dedicate you another love poem
                 no I want (deserve) better
This isn't what love should be
I’ll write you a poem where the words convulse on the page
and you’ll forget to read it (you always do)

my eyes were more blue
but you never did tell me
you liked green seas too

I wish I could find the book titled you,
The haphazard bounded and embroidered
Cover with pages spilling golden rue
And blurred lines under every lovely word…
But I don’t know where to look anymore
Or if my heart wants to ache like it did.
I couldn’t burn the secrets or foreswore
And forget the love seared on my eyelids…
But my thrum is in the eyes of a man,
Laced in every vein, waiting on his lips
Like a drug deal not according to plan
And your relapse stinging like poison whips.
     I’ve held and been held by this book in dreams
     And secret studies full of rouge sunbeams.
     Perhaps this diversion is what I needed;
     Maybe someday I'll learn to stop the bleeding?