Disentangle

I’ve been performing autopsies on
conversations we had so long ago
and placing empty kisses along
hollow collarbones, leaving a
heavy sickness that sits upon shoulder
blades and unsettles stomachs,
missing something that is there but not
here
never quenching the desperate need
for arms of ghosts, wrapped up by
foolish truths, I’ll
fold myself into the inevitable destiny
of nights by a silent phone and
people that could never feel like
the home you were
making out of me.

Once

We once had love and I don’t know how to turn that into poetry.

Religion

I don’t know why I write about love all the time –
I must have been descended from Atlas because
my spine is burdened by the weight of an
inexplicable desire;
something divine has poisoned my veins with a
fire that flows through my body,
burning my insides and
scorching my bones

I don’t know why I write about love, but
I know that climate change
isn’t the only thing that makes the world cold;
we have sold our souls to the notion that
we’re better off alone
with money and cars and iPhones but
a house isn’t a home unless your heart
ignites at the sight of someone’s shadow in the
morning light

I don’t know why I write about love every damn day, but
there’s something sacred in the way it feels
as though I’ve given up a bone from my own rib cage
in biblical desperation whenever you leave
like Adam to Eve, I have grieved the absence of
your shape: you were my saving grace, your bed
a grave of salvation
you are holy wine,
I have sipped on your eternity throughout history
and time

I don’t know why I write about love, but
I know the nights my bed has a dip
on the side, my hands find a resting place where
they feel just right, like a prayer to your bloodline
and I don’t need search the dark for peace
when I can hear our hearts beat at the same pace, I’m
not faced with the usual fear that sings me to sleep
most other nights, I know

It might not be the answer to the meaning of life, but
on the days where I am damaged goods labelled fragile,
the moments when you hold me tight make
all the white noise in my mind become quiet,
in our eyes, a shared look
never recorded in the books,
that says
you are the
only temple I want to worship the rest of my life, so
please don’t ask why I write about love

Infect

Poured a coffee,
let it go cold — my
stomach is turning with
the taste of your lips;
your fingerprints still
burnt on my bones
this soul will forever be soaked
in your sins and I’m
no longer sure how to patch
up wounds that only
exist under my skin