Please, take a penny

Deep breath, deep breath, swoon

Butterflies breed beside pain

Warning against hope.

 I wake up exhausted from a night of dreams

guns and fear raised like

lighters in the air at a rock concert.

The cement we found was cold and damp

with rain.

We lived together, imagine that? Not lovers,

but roommates. Complications and

implications lingered like fullness

after a meal.

I was stuffed. You were too?

You remembered us. You allowed

yourself to remember us

peeled back the layers and made room

for me where I once fit so snug.

I crave the comfort and yet awoke with a

cloudy film cloaked over reality and an

empty bed.

I once wore your concern like a blanket.

I can’t get warm.

before, I was inflated

filled with you.

your words your scent your ambitions

inside me

floating

lodging for space

like wine and lasagna and

a loosening belt

now, wind whispers through my ribs

left with fragments

only fragments.

that dream I’d had once where you

married my sister and I awoke

cold and detached.

The image of dancing to Michael Buble

Your dad cutting in and you

Cutting back

Now wine is ruined

James Bond is ruined

Oil in a saucepan

Salt too

Ruined

My microwave

My bedspread

The way I always pick the wrong

key to open my apartment door.

Joshua Radin  ruined.

Hippies ruined.

Espresso, and umbrellas,

Swimming pools, cracked leather,

Tampon jokes, and Apizza.

Tapping fingers, hair ties,

Belly buttons. Thinking pens.

Broken beds, morning yawns,

Empty gas tanks, nameless beers,

Cell phone sounds,  Red Hawk,

Cardboard coasters, human purse,

Billy shelves, Hemingway,

down blankets, pancakes

All ruined.

   morning breath gets between us like

distance, change, and boredom

“kiss me, kiss me” I don’t mind

let me taste the remnants of your

sleep and the bed we share

but we are too new and the breath too stale

only clean kisses for now

He took off my lid when I said I was ready.

Now everything sloshes around.

Spilling out. Evaporating. Condensing.

A constant fight to stay dry.

Rain hits the pavement like a firecracker

we can see from the second-story window

or we could, if we looked.

He felt like week-old pajamas,

smelled like grilled cheese sandwiches and play-doh

and he was stuck under my nails.

I love the night like a masochist would.

It bruises me. A soft spot behind the knee, an opening.

“Go ahead,” the voice like mine rattles,

“squeeze with all your might.”

I can take it.

Night punctures my skin like holes in a bag

a clear plastic one with a goldfish inside,

his world getting smaller. Water oozing, almost pretty.

Summer’s sprinkler slip ‘n slide, a gulp of hose water

so smooth.

But it’s night and the water is frightening

ocean waves under moonlight, the dark abyss of calm lapping,

of all that is unseen

sea amoebas and jelly fish

shark’s teeth and bloated bodies washing up on shore.

The night harbors more room for doubt.

Harnessed by the shadows, releasing in unpredictable doses.

Shrieks, punches, lunges, and whips.

I cover my eyes, but I always peek.