cerulean

cold rays of sun don't hit your face as you run towards the ticking
 
(--ticking, tick tick tick tick that maddening sound--)
 
and then you embrace her, her beautiful pale skin and long locks of flaxen wheat hair and eyes too blue
 
(--tickticktick, she whispers and she's too perfect--)
 
you always compared her eyes to cornflowers, didn't you? or maybe the ocean's sweet smell, of brine and beach and dead fish and then again, that's too ironic because one drop of salt water and she will rust
 
(--we're very good at running out of time, you see--)
 
and her skin, her porcelain frost paper whitewhitewhite skin and it is fragile, you think as you press calloused fingers to it, and you could bruise it so be so gentle, so kind to the frail person she isn't
 
(--salt water burns your eyes and you're not crying, you don't think--)
 
she's not that fragile. she's made of metal, remember? tiny brass gears and golden wires and large copper bolts and silver welding marks and it all moves together so perfectly, doesn't it? she's so lovely and so yours, isn't she?
 
(--tea would stain her skin, its linen tablecloth folds and she looks like a tablecloth, even with her own vase of flowers--)
 
and you clutch her long, cold hands in yours, and you hold her boldly, now, and you are in love but (...)

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decay

have i ever begged you to stay?
i always let you go, let you steal my
integrity, past our decay
 
what do you want from me today?
some happy endings, a quick fling?
did i say something that's halfway
 
to stupid, halfway to the real truth?
 
you were everything
until you were nothing.

edges

you came to me, all
cold toes and dreamy eyes
and it makes me so happy,
 
so very happy
that you are here
and you are a concrete idea,
so stylized and edgy
 
and we'll be waiting for you, baby
and  i hope that you'll drive in 
again, up my gravel driveway,
turn the porch lights on, and
 
i promise i'll run to you, darling,
and that sinking feeling
that isn't true, not at all.

the sky and his heaven

just like bone-trees, we are
fingers spindly and reaching out,
towards that great blue yonder
whimsy, isn't it, to say that
for all it is, is the sky,
the sad broken smiling happy sky
brains like gray clouds
cirrus and cumulus and cumulonimbus
and i agree it's all a storm
in our cloud-brains, all of that
electric emotion, lightning crashing

thunder is his voice, isn't it?
thunder, resonating from the tips,
the very tips of your roots to your clouds
and he is the soil and the water
and his easy smile is the beam of sunshine
and his laugh the rain trickling down your
trunk, your spine, sending you reaching up

and maybe, he is the sky, as well
your beautiful sky painted red
at dawn, forever smiling down at you.
(...)

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sonnet iv - unfortunate

sadly, tea cannot cure a hangover,
just as alcohol can't cure depression
we have found out that earl gray in dover
tastes the same in chicago, confession!

father, a confession to be made now,
that my head hurts like my soul is broken.
to drink a glass of water, raised eyebrow
of the world, of last night, words unspoken

pop an advil, give a half-hearted grin,
and then a cup of steaming tea to wash
the glitter of yesterday off my skin,
pretend again to say our minds don't slosh

lipstick stains on shot glass, on porcelain
taking meds as we wait, the world begins.

blocks

are we so selfish, to do away
with ourselves? lock me up,
wear the key on a chain around
your neck; it's to keep me alive-

have i ever needed tending?
i've promised i'm okay, but
you'll see right through me,
my butterflies and sharp smiles

or will you?

the tips of my fingers, they
are rough, catching at my skin
and all of these pictures
sepia-toned seeping sunlight
wishing, wanting again

with these, i've never been so free!

malignancy

take in all my pain, my agony, but take in my life, my joy, my love. when i die, i want you to take it all. promise me, just make me a promise, that when i can't talk and my skin hurts and my lips are swollen and my hair is gone, that you'll take me away.

ticking

darling, tell me that you want me
because i'm not sure if we can do this,
whatever this is, anymore.

i'm just too tired from smiling,
please don't hold that against me.

my fingers tremble like the minute scales
on butterfly wings, on dragons
and i breathe fire, all right,
flickers of something hotter than you'd believe

and now clocks keep their arms to themselves,
ticking muted, time stops for a second to watch me

does this make me pretty?

for even one stolen second of waiting time,
can you consider me to be gorgeous?