A supple seedling sought sustenance and discovered sanctuary in my palm. In brief time, its roots burrowed under my skin and siphoned life from my veins. Nurtured by my warmth, nourished by my blood, at last the seedling blossomed in my unclosing hand—a ravishing crimson rose, in and of itself proof of God and His artistry. Every day, I gazed upon this rose in scrutinizing admiration, watching it grow more exquisite by the minute. Each beat of my heart pumped precious life to this rose, grafting our souls together—I could feel it breathe, could taste the sun, could feel the wind on its petals as if against my own flesh.

But how I regret, in one single act of angered negligence, I clenched my fist and crushed this rose, perfect rose that I adored—in turn, destroying a part of my soul as crimson dripped from between my fingers.

If only we were leopard slugs,
we’d be an upside-down ballet, already
dangling from a string of our own mucous,
sensually embracing while wrapped
in each other’s gigantic blue *****.
You fertilizing me fertilizing you
as we spin like a disco ball
because this is where the party’s at.
And if you listen closely,
David Attenborough commentates
on the magic of our ***-
and woman, it would be ******* magic.
We’re hermaphrodites, I can dance this dance
with any leopard slug I see.
You should be flattered
I chose to get slimy with you.

Except we’re not leopard slugs.
Instead, there was a half-assed attempt at romance-
tonight, a bouquet on sale at the gas station-
and now I’m enduring bland small talk
over a meal I don’t want to pay for
that I pepper with lies to increase my chances
that you and I will get sticky in our own juices.
I envy the leopard slug.

We’ve only had the appetizer
but I think I should have just stayed home
and watched a documentary.

Fireflies strike lightning in their bellies
all to find that perfect mate;
love spoken in a Morse Code of light.

Lacking bio-luminescence, I shine
my MagLite in your face
on and off and on and off and
you refuse to let me on or
get me off.

I realize we are not lightning bugs
but I’m starting to think
we have no spark;

perhaps I should change tactics.

A male porcupine seduces the ladies
by giving them a *******;
should I pull out the plastic tarp?
A male giraffe drinks the female’s *****;
how thirsty can you make me?

Lady terrapin turtles are won
with just a tickle of the cheek;
lady lemurs like when their men stink;
and a dung beetle will fill a hole with ****.

Look, I’ve taken you to dinner already,
we’ve had a couple overpriced cocktails-
that’s like a peacock showing his feathers
and I’m confident I have ******* pretty feathers;
Daddy told me that should be enough
and that sometimes she’ll play hard to get
and sometimes you just have to take what you want.
Things don’t need to get messy
-that’s on you-

but we are just animals, after all

You give expensive presents
but your presence is cheap,
leaves me feeling worthless.
I attempt to tempt love from your lips
but you return an empty kiss
squeamishly
as though I were a corpse.
Meeting your gaze feels shameful
like walking in on your parents *******.
(I even blush.)
In the vacant catacombs of your eyes
flames of a crematorium blaze.
I’m not even dead yet;
but in this glance, I learn
that we are.

I can’t help but sweat
as my lips turn to ash,
as my love goes up in flames.

There is no ego when
strength and eloquence abandons,
ruining her dress as knees dig
into the grass.

What took rivers lifetimes,
hot tears carve like razors
grand canyons of sadness, altering
forever the landscape of her face
all in the moments it takes to lower
her husband’s casket.

Her wailing: so pained, so disabling
all present must re-center their balance;
yet while watching her, I
stand crippled with compunction—
she mourns her lover,
I covet her ever having one

Dawn creeps in through curtains,
spilling onto a bed too big for just myself.
Unwilling to grow
accustomed to such excess space,
I sleep only on my side
should you ever return to yours.

As ever other morning,
I give the tea kettle a good shine
before lighting the burner.
Aside from being your kettle,
it is nothing special,
has never surprised me,
yet still I watch with irrational urgency,
fingers crossed.

A bit of honey, squeeze of lemon-
I don’t even care for tea.
This is how you like it,
how I’ll prepare it.

To my disappointment
the water simply boils.
The whistle is not a waking genie,
steam unprepared to grant wishes.
If only this kettle were Aladdin’s lamp-
I’d have just one wish—
not for your return

to forget you.

Can we just be **** buddies
instead of lovers?
Perhaps if I just met you;
if we were just two strangers at a bar
open to company
while seeking solitude;
a bad week drowning in snifter after snifter
so, too, inhibitions washed away in a flood of whiskey
until we’re making eye contact
until let me introduce myself
until conversation is more suggestive glances than speaking
until our lips are too preoccupied for conversation
until we’re in a fight with self-control in the back seat of a taxi
until we’ve lost the fight in my bed
until it’s the morning after
until “I don’t want to date but we should do that again.”
Maybe then.
Except I didn’t just meet you at a bar.
Except we are not strangers
but suddenly this bed feels strange to me.

Can we just be **** buddies
instead of lovers?
As if our adventures were just
mundane check-marks on a to-do list;
as if your sunshine-smile isn’t the catalyst
to photosynthesis of happiness in my heart;
as if I didn’t express it at least once daily from the moment
I discovered I loved you 900 days ago;
as if I only cared to expose your flesh and not your dreams;
as if I only love you for the parts you beg me to enter;
as if I could touch you without stacking up plans for our future together
like building blocks, so tall the Berj Khalifa would be jealous;
as if after all we’ve shared, I could settle with being just a stain on your sheets.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I said I’d give you anything but you’ve proven me a liar.

And like Jenga we collapse,
only you made the damning move but I
sleep in our ruins, the loser.

Three years together but still
you’re the lover I never had