you were made of
good intentions, thin hips,
and soft shoulders.

i was weak,
with bruised knees,
and thought with my lips.


if we were to ever agree on a god:
he would be physical—and he
would know our secrets.



he would be made out of them.

I had a home
and I hid a
secret in the floor
boards. I would
like to say I was
bored but I know I
was only lonely and
tired of drinking. If
you can hide a
body in a closet—
you can hide a
memory under the
bed. I like to think
I did not mean for it
to be this way.
But now, his
skin has fallen and
he is a skeleton in
my closet and his mem-
ories have spawned a
monster under my bed.
I like to think I
did not mean for it
to be this way.
I am hoping my
husband never
taps on the walls.
They will
tap back.

You got better, I got bitter.

We never make eye contact anymore—
But your friends and I do—
Which is weird—I don't remember them being the ones—who stuck a finger in my—

she says report, report, report it
i’m trying to tell her
how difficult it was
to even disclose to her
how my ribs
turned into seatbelts.

you told me you loved
red, blue, and geometry—
and the next morning
i found red
lines on my back
and blue
circles on my neck.
i know you've read
the things i've written.
i know you know
the things i've done.
we share a secret within
the line of our vision.
we never spoke about it.




we never spoke about it.

new days come one at a time
tumbling over so many ruins
and the polished stones gleam
underfoot now, where once lay
terrible weapons to sling.
now gone, every sting.

the clouds part daily and the moon slips through heaven
on a wave of your plump lips, as they kiss me.
i dream again, of You and You...
and only You
as the Sun.