dear emily

day light / didn’t ask / if i slept / shifted the stars / without looking back / left / me in a sky / I didn’t recognize // the mirror cracked / in the corners / not from age / but memory // i used to think / the answer was a man / with warm hands / and good mornings / but he left / and so did the next / and the next / like fireworks / one after another / so loud / i didn’t have to / see // but dear me / you are not a shortcut / you are the road even when / you tripped / in heels / too high / for the life you were chasing // you wanted someone / to read your sadness / like a map / but no one ever / stayed / long enough / to make sense of it all // and i get it / i really do // you were the answer / you feared / tired of holding yourself / so you handed the weight away // but dear me / you are still walking aren’t you / even halfway / with one hand dragging / the night behind you / the other learning / to let go // dear me / it’s okay / if it takes time / the stars don’t know yet / you are one of them.

Twin Flame

what began

wasn't wildfire,

just a spark

in the hush of breath,

the kind of heat

that curls into your spine,

then lingers

long after the room cools.

your jacket,

still on the chair,

something too heavy

to carry twice.

the TV flickered to some disco

from before either of us were born,

we moved as if the beat

was ours to own.

under streetlights,

two beers and a pack down,

my hand in yours

like it meant nothing

but let go

like it almost did.

there was a version

of us

that never made it

past the smoke.

i tried to forget the summer

you left

without turning.

still, it tasted

like it was

mine

to keep.

Bad Habits

tongues stained
violet crushed escape

you said stars
sound better

than sorries

so I left them at the party

the room pulsed,

ceiling swam

and walls lost their shape

our bodies

forgot who they belonged to

and we let them

your pupils,

two eclipses

pulling tide from the curtains.

gravity

let go,

how familiar.

half smoke,

half me.

half truth,

half you.

the moon

played dead outside,

eavesdropping on

our pretty lies.

i swallowed

another hour,

i think our last,

almost told you

that my heart caved in.

but my mouth

was full of music

i couldn’t sing

and your voice

was a match

lit under water.

et enfin

a croissant
half-warm
on the kitchen counter
i didn’t say goodbye to either

left your city
like a book
i never opened again

a grin you forgot
on my lips—
merci

the sky did try
to weep
but i packed too fast
for weather

somewhere between
paris and nowhere
i whispered to the clouds
you were kind

and we had everything
to make a memory
of june

no rewinds,
just a playlist
i skip
a little slower now

and me,
i’ll keep the dream
a dream,

et enfin
the heart
folds itself

carry-on again

« hey you »

humid june / sweat on your neck / a cologne / i breathed in a little too long / your name / not mine to own / on her tongue // racing pulse and cigarettes / everything smelled like / foolish / or honey / depends who’s asking // i said you were right / just to win / just to lose / but hey you / paris was only gold if / i didn’t blink / and i didn’t blink // you dreamed brooklyn skyline / through your teeth / like a secret / i couldn’t translate / maybe it meant something / in another life / but this one / hurts fine // smoke in your voice / was it distance / or was it / just me / again // in another life / trains have no doors / to get on / just to get off / but even there / i’d still have / waited.

Playin'

 

the sound had hands
i wish
were yours

a breath
inside a breath
still no walls
kept me

i became the room
of our aftermath
mischief in fabric
smells like you

in the sea
of spinning blues
your eyes weren't listening
to the song that
drowned me

Cowboy

the traffic
held its breath

a red blink
too soft
i mistook it for
a heartbeat

grief is a boy
who learned to ride a bike
with the arms of an ocean
wrapped around his waist
pretending to be still

my skin remembers—
your warmth becoming
a kind of weather

and some mornings
i wake
to light
shaped like you
leaving

Small Hours in Paris

I packed
a carry-on heart,
too small for the weight
I never unpacked.

Feelings
are delays,
so I ran on time
and arrived
alone.

The metro sighs,
it knows
no one ever stays.

I walk past lovers,
hands in each other’s pockets,
and slide mine
into my own.

Some cities ache,
some cities wait.

Some cities won’t hold me
when I walk away.

Today

The sun is
a whisper through the bones.

The ocean ahead,
the city behind.
I belong to neither.

I close my eyes.

For a moment,
there is no purpose,
no past,
just the wind,

weightless,

carrying me home

to nothing

and everything.

(Kennedy in August →)

Trip

The night caught in my teeth,
it does not have a name.

What was I chasing?

I promise it was on the tip of my tongue.

What did I find?

A memory I’m not sure is mine.

The shadow pulls over me like a blanket.
Whatever it is can wait.