cranberry

the night was a flock of ancient lights.
ocean in my backpack. we met like
dimes. like the almost cost of water.
no one was on the radio. your foot
on the dashboard. oh how i believed
in jupiter & jump rope games. becoming a girl.
becoming a boy becoming a cranberry
on the end of my fork. they gave us 
a table at the edge of universe. candles
lit in the restaurant. cute bus boys 
with tattoos up their arms. we took out
our eyes to show all the times they'd broken
& we'd glued them back together.
you get to a point though where
you cannot see anything without seeing
kaleidoscope. your skin, a terrain
of stained glass. steam from a cup of tea. 
i chewed ever bright bruise on my plate
& so did you. by the time we were done
there was no one else in the restaurant.
your bedroom & the ceiling of bees.
island without shoulders. city made
of tombstones & teeth. but that night
i could feel all the fissures. where 
we could come apart like lobes of an orange.
did we go to the ocean? did we stand
on the roof of your apartment? 
i just remember standing alone
in the restaurant bathroom & looking
into the mirror knowing i would 
not be the same after knowing you. 
behind me in the mirror was a flock
of crows. incense burned on the end table.
patchouli & lavender. i bathed in the smoke.