cuddling with tarantulas

your loudness is what i loved about you,

until you were out of reach.

now it is a haunting,

the only thing i can’t keep quiet,

is you not wanting me.

III. (it takes intimacy to address her as “you”/i took a step back)

she brings the desert with her,

most of the time it goes unnoticed.

she throws it to the wind as she walks across grass,

laughs like anyone would be crazy to find an oasis inside her,

head tilted like a coyote under half moon.

people she passes mistake the whistle sand tickling their ears

as a buzz for summer,

or proof of her charms.

they look for water.

they don’t know.

her supple desert,

dizzy and forbidden.

the sun grabs lavender loops from her eyelids,

when she smile in the morning.

i think of it as home.

i crumble my palms to red dirt,

smooth a canyon into the rock of her back.

so when i put my body over her,

i can own a heart that calls itself corgeaous enough to rise above a desert.

i want the dirt to mingle with my blood,

to make it solid.

this would be her grounding me.

her copper cactus red,

her wild dog,

oh wide eyes soft sage

her circles wearing dresses

that fall like rivers to the mouths of dry souls,

guided by movement of body and blink.

i wander in the wake of her desert for days,

her name,

a scorched subconscious thought,

a blanket of hot snow.

a scorpion shaking its shadow off at night.

i find the horizon line,

balanced on the tip of my tongue.

the heaviest rainfall when she steps out of sight.

my eyes,

two soft men made of mud.

i find turquoise again,

buried in the last look she gave.

my skin is sand.

this time you brings me.

II.

last week i lost a notebook

i lost seven months of unfinished thought, burgundy, faceless authors, and sacred bullshit that didn’t sound like me

i made a kissing list on the fifteenth page sealed red with tape

those lips will cut you if you if you dig too deep

I hope happiness doesn’t know your name

I’m bitter and small

i wonder who “you” are

a scavenger rifling through someone else’s head trying to sew scraps of sanity onto your own cheekbones just to make words sound nice when you scream

when you found it did your face

quote an old sunken moon?

glimmer like a lonely person?

are you dark in there?

ask for an answer

hate what you ask for

this notebook should cry

that is what things do when people they love leave them carelessly

even if there you are a culprit,

black in the joints like me

you like to steal things,

all of that sacred bullshit

you won’t be able to wear yourself after you try on me

nothing belongs to sincerity anymore

thank god I lost myself in the process

this week I belong to me

AND TODAY I FOUND MY NOTEBOOK

I.

thousand and one words today.

mouthfuls of dirt/muscle/ meaning

everyone wants

to talk about death

everyone wants strength

to look softer

we can reinvent the future

we can talk real slow

we know the past looks prettier in pictures

anyways,

lets go

fortunate theives/starvist souls/foolishly ruthless

those of us lucky 

enough

to have bodies

can disrupt

lucky to write life

exactly as we want it to be remembered 

a thousand lies that are too good to be true

only one looks like you

wrangle up my angels/give them names

honeycomb wire wings/rusted out/luckless/

unopened as the pages of a wet atlas

lose track of who is who

all you know are faces

you are lucky

make a home out of a month/

make it personal

make every word work for it

make a thousand noises

leave one behind

lets go

thirty/thirty/twentytwelve

starts today.