petri dish 

you & me woke
up in the same
petri dish--
yellow incubator light
overhead--
it is a question
of who is faster
at consuming? 
our world was
small & our cells
were simple 
& prokaryotic-- in
the town where i 
grew up 
they tear into
the asphalt every summer
& the beeping
of backing u
vehicles 
kept my night shift
father awake--
staring into
the ceiling 
while my brother &
i walked along
the rim of
the dish-- traced
our own perimeters--
the mountain 
past the Rite Aide 
where the whole
world ended--
& in the 10th grade
i loved biology--
our biology--
our sickly biology--
the biology 
of our bodies
in petri dishes &
the back seats 
of cars--
our biology of
basements & 
the yellow incubator
light glaring
down at us--
this was our single-celled
life-- this was
our growth--
the impending collision
of our expanding
bodies--
who will eat who?
isn't that always
the game of
our fist loves--
who will grow up
faster & leave
the other one to
sleepin
in the halo song
of golden moons--
we ate gas station
doughnuts &
i learned that 
a 'no' from the 
throat of a girl 
means nearly nothing 
but an apology--
i made my own
holy water from 
blue raspberry slushies &
i still 
know kutztown's
side roads
better than 
my own cell structures--
i don't remember
anymore about the
different membranes 
of the bacteria cell
or why we raised
them in the back room
of the lab in 10th grade  
or where they went
when we were done
spying on them 
under microscopes--
peering into
their soft & 
tiny bodies--
there pilus-- the
small hairs propelling
them through swiftly 
across the agar--
i had thick legs
as a girl & dresses
to hide them--
you had black hair 
& sometimes
you bumped your head
on the roof of my house--
that's how tall you became--
how much space you
take up inside me still
when i think
about your hand
snatching a fist
of my hair to yank--
who will consume who
in the petri dish?
who will
climb through
the microscope's lens
back into the lab
where i was 
wearing gloves
& goggles-- marveling
at the blueish hue 
of the bacteria
we had inspired--
there the stop light
on main street 
blinked & a singular
red toyota 
clamored out of
town--
& no 
matter how
vast
i become-- 
when i see
that car-- his car--
i alter--
simplify my cells 
--on my knees
in agar-- 
membranes
throbbing
with the fear of
the memory 
of such smallness 
he sparked in
me-- oh what
do you remember
from biology class?
do you remember
counting
the bacteria on
the back of your 
hands-- 
did you believe 
yourself
a microcosm?
& the street lamps
don't go 
on all at once 
in kuztown-- they 
light one after the
other until they 
find their
way to noble
street--
expanding 
only to 
the edge
of corn fields

it's a wonderful life 

it's a wonderful
midnight--
a wonderful car ride--
a wonderful backyard 
our neighbors built
a tall tall fence
to keep our
headlights & our
eyes we flick like
marbles through 
the grass--
whether we like
it or not-- humans
are great builders
of fences-- 
a wonderful fence 
brick by brick
sectioning off
our own corners
of the sky--
the evergreen
tree who is all
of our grandfathers--
yes he belongs
to us-- 
the fence says
so--
when i was seven
i dreamed
of clothes lines
in the backyard--
of wonderful clothes lines
of my long-sleeve
yellow shirt 
flapping
in august breeze--
dreamed of 
taking images
of the moon
with my 
disposable camera 
dreamed of
of tight-rope
walking-- dreamed
of balancing &
sitting up
on the roof-- 
the fence grows up
to the shingles
but if you look
up you might
believe the
sky would take you
back-- a particle 
in orbit--
a wonderful orbit 
i was there 
roof-thinking
about that movie
"it's a wonderful life"
my uncle used to 
talk about it 
every christmas even
though we seldom watched
the film--
basically these
angels talk this 
guy out of jumping
off a bridge &
killing himself
by showing him
how wonderful his life 
was-- there
are two things
wrong with this movie--
1) this life
is not all that wonderful--
we don't hang a clothes 
line-- 
we don't see
over the fence--
the washing machine
bangs her head into
oblivion-- she too
escaping gravity--
the laundromat
becomes a hymnal 
& on christmas we
all come to bed
to think about
death
2) where have these
angels been for me
& all the times
gravity abandoned
me on roof
top clothes line?
our bridges
don't have angels--
our bridges
have memories &
fences aching to
scrape the underbelly
of mars--
our bridges
have fathers 
with callous fingers
& mothers
with oven mitts--
tonight i felt
a release-- felt
my shoes leave
the snow-crusted
earth &
i rose--
i rose above the 
fence-- above the shingles
above the clothes
line we never hung--
disposable camera
in my hand--
sent into
orbit once
& for all--
these angels
will see me
as a comet maybe--
passing
on occasion to
snap a picture
with the flash on
& then roll
the little black 
plastic dial on
the camera to 
be ready for
the next shot--
the moon still hangs 
un-photographable 
& the other planets 
duck behind their moons
to avoid my lens
so i turn 
to the back yard 
there my brother un-sheaths
his bayonet
& stands--
an angel on
a clothes line--
reeling me
back towards earth 
with his wingless
soldier body--
it's not a wonderful
life--
it's a disposable
camera life--
a roof-top life
a tall tall fence
life--
these angels 
these angels
they're us 

white christmas

the sky wanted 
so badly to snow
for us-- 
last night 
as you 
drove me home 
we listened 
to her
as she sobbed in
her bathroom-- 
touched her 
face with
the back of her
hand-- 
felt herself
falling more & more
she came down as
as rain on
our wind shield &
you said that
it wasn't quite snow--
there is a loneliness
to christmas 
that has settled in
me as i've gotten
older-- a deep
fear of darkened 
store-front &
the absence of
open signs--
it is such a 
terrifying
& rare thing to
see people stopping--
to see the super
market parking lot
vacant--
i have a deep sympathy
for the 
almost-snowflakes
this year-- 
i feel
like the whole year
sneaked up on 
me & now i'm here--
haunting my house
alone on christmas
eve & somewhere
there are santas
clauses with umbrellas
& soaked socks--
will he start up
our fire place again 
to dry off?
will he come in
through the
window this year?
will he bring me
the slowness i
asked for-- 
oh the sky just
wanted that
unhurried promise
of snow-- the way
it breathes a hush--
the way it 
teaches humans 
patience again--
when i was little
there was once
a thick perfect christmas
snow & when i stepped
outside with my father
we saw reindeer foot
prints on the roof
& everything 
moved as if
we were isolated 
inside a snow globe
or a music box or
living out our lives
in one of those 
model 
christmas houses
on side tables-- 
the yellow glow
of our porch lights
on the 
cotton snow-- 
for who do you
melt?
for who are you
feeling heavy?
so i stared out
the window
as the rain became 
more determined--
counted
the cars as 
they swam with
windshield wiper
strokes--
i wanted to
know where they
all could be driving
so late on
christmas eve--
i wanted to tell
them that there
are no stores open--
there are no more
places
left to
go besides churches  
& the WaWa on fifth 
avenue
where people
like me go
to pray in the headlights
of the congregation
of other people
so struck by
the fear of
the store fronts
with their eyes shut--
this poem is a prayer
for you &
the snow--
a prayer that 
we stop letting years 
pass by without
enough 
i love yous 
a prayer that 
you will wear
your glasses when
you drive at night
& a prayer 
you & me will
finally stop
getting older--
you are the reindeer
foot prints still
pacing my roof
you are the 
few persistent 
snow flakes that 
managed to fall 
last night--

neptunium 

in the 7th grade
i discovered neptunium--
while other students
were breathing
helium--
their voies
laughing off
onto another 
plane-- or
shifting
for gold in the creek
behind the school--
handfuls of rocks
none of which bore
the glint of the sun--
our fathers made
batteries up
the street
in the factory
that was easily mistaken
for a city
at night when 
even the street
lamps often gave up--
all-fours
i peered under my
mattress to find the
black radioactive
rocks pulsing--
they deserved
to be harvested--
to be loved like
the plentiful elements 
with sparse electrons
in their orbitals--
fingers burned 
to bone--
i tore them free--
wrapped my
hands in gauze 
by the bathroom sink
& my mother asked 
what i was doing in
there so long with
the water running--
i said 
i'm fine 
i'm fine
i'm fine--
because everyone
in 7th grade is
fine & on the cusp
of radioactivity
that they themselves
could never know--
i felt it swelling--
gripped the sink--
watched myself in the
mirror-- oily skin
& freckles turning
into pot hots--
i tripped on 
my own mirror image--
palms sweaty--
everyone is
fine in 7th grade--
this was right before
i let myself 
break full length
mirrors-- before
the windowsill was 
a god--
i returned to 
my bunk bed--filled
my back pack--
every student
had been assigned 
one element to 
explain to the
class--
mine of course
neptunium-- 
but no one expected
us to become this
close-- i spoke to
her as i fell asleep--
learned to break
off pieces
small enough to 
swallow--
it tasted like
a cross between
black licorice &
purple rock candy--
i locked my door--
i started to 
pray to the element--
the impossible element
who had come to find
me-- out there
in the world
there was hydrogen
to be breathed--
calcium somewhere
between milk & bone--
potassium in
the ripe bananas
on the fridge
but we--
we are neptunium--
unfathomable--
born in nuclear
reactions-- holding
hands with 
bed posts &  
chubby freckled
girls like me who 
wanted to pierce
their own ears when
the time came--
like neptunium 
we too wear black
with the intention
of having
the night sky
take us back--
we too wonder 
what kind of world
would bring us 
into it only
to admit that we
in fact have
no clear use-- a 
volatile mess of
electrons &
neutrons fighting
for control
of a body--
where do you
hide your own
entropy--
do you open your
windows?
everyone 
everyone
everyone is fine
in 7th grade--
everyone has 
wadded into
the creek-- prayed
to a false god
who did at least
for a moment
understand them--
neptunium
the God of instability 
so fraught he only
manifests in
laboratories &
under the bunk beds
of young girls
on the brink
of tripping
tragically into
the growing up games
of children--
bent like a microscope
throwing up 
stone & crystal--
cutting my throat
till only blood 
still dripped from
my chapped lips
in the bathroom 
stalls--
hand sanitizer prophets 
are born here-- 
only in retrospect
can i thank
the burns on
my fingers-- the 
nights un slept
as we talked--
as she explained 
to me her body--
the way the scientists
stared into
her-- an object
of awe-- of containment--
i promised her that
i would 
never keep her
like that--
i drew her image
on a white poster
board to present in
front of class 
like anyone else
& when i came
back that afternoon 
she was gone--
i felt the cool
bare mattress 
& cried--
everyone is fine
in 7th grade
is fine
is fine
is fine 
 

DNA

is it something
in the twist of
my DNA?
the metal slide from
the park--
are we
descending?
jacob's ladder
of nucleic
acids-- proteins
& lipids--
the instructions
for our bodies
printed on a spiral
staircase--
follow me up
to the attic-- 
i packed
the blue suite case full
of stuffed animals--
we can clear
a space on
the floor & play--
oh god
where did you
write
my brown brown
eyes & where
did you write
the lonely 
ache beneath 
my fingertips--
is there someone
else on this 
stair case
or am i here alone
going up & up
& up
or is it down?
what direction
do your memories
whorl?
whose ladder
do you use
to change the 
porch light bulb?
i am someone
to be coiled into--
someone to open
the windows for--
i have resolved 
that it is something
in my DNA--
in the smallest
foot steps
left in my chest
that makes me like
this-- like corkscrew
promises--
like throbbing
heels under my
chest--
a man in boots 
pacing each rib--
i am a sleepless 
banister--
an anxious
rung-- this ladder
is made of guitar strings
& deoxyribose--
i inherented   
the sugar phosphorus 
backbone from my
father-- he 
in stubborn &
far too
attached to the 
persistence
of ceilings--
perched on
a cloud with a quill
pen an angel 
wrote us--
his scroll curling--
helix of our
headaches-- gyrating
us into souls--
do you keep
your brown eyes 
in the attic?
have you ever
tried
to remove your DNA?
i have--
took a bottle
opener to my
throat-- scraped
& scraped as
the double 
helix writhed &
squirmed-- stab of
my own finger nails
trudging through 
flesh i begged
for it to come free--
un  write
un write me--
i want to climb
the attic stairs
alone--
run away again--
pack the blue suit 
case &
travel  up &  up
or was it down?
what direction do
your brown eyes
spiral?
were you caught 
in a whirl pool
of covalent bonds?
i distrust
these molecules--
i distrust 
ladders & the
act of descending--
help me i want
to take them out--
i want to live
blankly & void--
i want to live
without instructions--
a loose body dangling
in uncertainty--
the metal slide at
the play ground--
cold in the autumn--
always wear long
pants-- it
makes sliding down
easier--
i'll pile my DNA outside
my body as mulch
& the neighborhood
children with play--
swing higher than ever
before-- land--
snap hydrogen bonds--
slowly i will dissemble--
become a molecule
to be swallowed--
i hope when i 
drop i land facing
the sky-- you
told me that every night
you look
for Orion's belt--
i want to gaze 
with that comfort
of knowing that
there's someone
else with brown
eyes & staircases
still
trapped 
just beneath
the skin--
twist with me--
grab me 
DNA handfuls--
the attic is
waiting--
up & up
or was it down?

semi-automatic   

is it naive 
of me to want
to replace these
bullets with rain?
trigger thunder clap--
the god of lightning 
was displeased at
humans incessant 
fixation
on destruction--
as inevitable as
the discovery 
of fire thus 
was the discovery of
the bullet--
dropped
from a grey cloud--
at first mistaken
for hail--
they will tell
you that there
are bullets 
in your teeth--
they will tell you
that the first 
bullet was from
Prometheus-- 
the heroic defiling 
of the gods--
we revel in our
own ability to
draw blood--
how human how
human it is 
to bleed 
oh this is our manifest
destiny--
we expel 
metal-- we hone
death down to
the acuteness 
of a trigger--
we all learned about
guns from our fathers--
from our backyards--
we learned that
the eyes of
deer are made
of copper & to be
used as bullets--
in my attic as
i dug through
card board boxes
yet to be unpacked
since we'd moved
i discovered a 
small black gun--
trembling--
electro-magnetic
pull-- i clasped
her body-- the barrel--
the sleek trigger--
i aimed upwards
towards heaven
in case 
the gun discharged--
i didn't want to
be holding her--
i wanted to burry
the gun & never
see it again--
i wondered who
in my family would
own such a tool--
i wanted so
badly to 
test out the trigger--
as humans we
have all been
taught to 
pull triggers--
to absurd the
kick back
into our shoulders--
aim high past
the ceiling light--
into the
forehead
of the clouds--
i pointed at god 
unknowingly--
snap of
the gun-- laugh
of a bullet
i meant to replace
with rain but instead  
burst into
the white belly
of heaven--
come blood 
in a drizzle--
a reddish mist--
fog-- thumb print 
teeth-- 
the ankles of
my hands--
i stumbled--
the roof was
a cloud running
away
from me-- 
a child wrong
by the promise of
the gun-- the 
snake was a gun
& the each bullet
another blood
red apple for
us to bite into--
at recess when 
i was eight &
we were pretending
to be robbers
our fingers 
were semi automatic
& when the teacher
asked what it
was that our guns
fired we told
her gumballs--
we all knew they
were bullets--
it is grossly naive
of me to 
sit here while
rain drops
chase each other
off the ledge of
a cloud &
think that maybe
just maybe
they could
explode from
the barrel of a gun--
through
our canvas shoes--
leave us dripping
instead 
of dead--
oh god, don't forgive
your trigger
children--
it was me who
aimed upwards--
recoiled
back down
into the earth--
please take back
your bullets--
too
silver-- too
metal too fast

ripen

let's eat the green
bananas from
a top the fridge--
i was not ready to
be naked for
you-- but
there we were
in the patience
of each other's
shadows-- peels
in the trash can--
fingers caught
in mouths of string--
we are never
ready are we?
i keep
waking up
in kitchen cabinets--
i ask my
father to unpeel
the clementines
still in the basket
hoping one
of them will be me--
i have been waking
up in the back yard--
i have been remembering
my tooth pick sinews--
my stale popcorn
marrow-- 
buttery &
cold in the morning
on the kitchen counter--
handful by handful--
let's eat our
oranges 
sliced in smiles--
teeth still stung
from tooth paste--
impatience is
the first sign you
are in too much love--
it's rising--
up to your neck--
do you remember
how you
learned to tread
water?
do you remember
the intimacy
of swim lessons?
how it was the first
time you learned what
your body felt like
when touched?
this is self-love
making--
this is the
bitter white
strawberries 
who were picked too
soon & will in fact
never ripen
no matter
how long you leave
them 
in the door of 
the fridge--
i'm still persuading
the red out from
under my skin--
i'm still learning
what kind of
naked i want to be
& there you came
along & ate
green bananas with
me-- 
& there you came along
& woke me up
from the back yard
& told me to come inside--
they say the apple
doesn't fall far
from the tree
& out there in
the frosted stubble
grass i was looking
higher & higher--
what kind of
branch could 
have held a body
like mine?
i was green & 
fresh when you
loved me--
i was a clumsy
dive
into a chlorine 
thick pool--
belly slapped
from impact--
you were the water--
the 
hard thick vast
water--
the finger nail
beneath
the skin of
the orange--
ripening is a myth
you know?
no matter
how many nights
you wait
in the heat
of the freckled
sky 
you will never be
as vibrant as you are
now--
your skin the
color of
limes-- there's mint
leaves
in your teeth--
stop waiting--
i want to
learn to stop
waiting for
myself-- stop 
trying to dig
the syrups
& the sugars from
my arteries 
saying
this this
this
will make you 
love me--
this will make
me taste better
so i say 
lover let's
eat the green
bananas from
on top of the fridge
i have no patience
for mornings--
i am ripe--
i am treeless
i am stale
i am so so 
anciently green--
when you find
me asleep
in the yard 
know that the
sound of
the clouds will
wake me--
i'm not asking
you to wait
for me-- 
i'm just
saying 
you can

mood ring

if we all wore
mood rings 
you could hold
me tight between
your finger
& your thumb until
i blushed blue 
& in love with you--
you could read 
me-- change
my temperature
& i could
press you
until you became
beige & restless--
when i was 8 
i got a mood
ring at a gift
shop
on the beach & 
i spent the 
next few days holding
the glossy colorful
surface to
different locations
on my body--
my neck-- the skin
of my soft palms--
this is 
how i discovered
the shades of
my blood-- my
soul dripping cyan &
yellow--
lime green 
& adventurously red
did you know
a soul could
be red? 
& when you hold me
i won't know
what color i'll turn
because i've long 
since lost my mood rings--
given up
on the colors 
laying beneath
dormant
in my body--
somewhere on
the beaches of
assateague between
waves eager
to finally break 
& the gritty sand
caked on my
knees
i lost my mood ring
while searching 
for the color
pink inside my--
i was delving
for the uncertain--
the fearful--
the froth of 
surf & sunset 
bruising in
the distance--
if you clasp
yourself
tight enough you
can become 
any color & so
i did &
now i'm 21 
& i don't have a 
mood ring 
but when you
cupped me
like water i leaked
auburn & amber--
wild & mauve 
you let me go--
you let me seep 
into the soil--
a rainbow in
formation-- a
wave attempting
to break--
come here & let
me coax the colors
from under
your skin-- 
i want to
see your grey-
blue soul shake
water
from your hair--
& when i lost
my mood ring
i felt 
oddly free-- as if
i no longer
had a barometer
for my heart beat--
as if the 
only color i had to
feel was the
red throbbing 
of my sunburn 
shoulders-- peeling
as i surveyed
the damages
in a full length mirror--
i stung all
over-- heat pulsing--
i wondered
what color 
i would be if i hadn't
lost the mood
ring
in the ocean--
if i hadn't warn
it so dangerously
& i wept
indigo & vermilion--
amaranth & aquamarine--
laughing--
oh let me
hold you tonight--
there are so many hues
left to surface in
you--
i want to
touch you-- i want
to help you feel
them--
look our hands
are amethyst--
trust me--
put on this mood
ring &
run away 
into the azure
ocean with me--
this time we'll
get lost 
on purpose--
break with me
in rainbows--
press me to your
neck--
your blood
was sunset bruised
& mine was
still sunburned 
& red

my father & i buy ice

i was twelve &
in the heat of
july my father drove
me up the street
in his senile blue
jeep to go
buy ice at the 
kutztown bottling
works--
i craved the
walk-in freezer--
day-dreamed of
her wideness--
her rows of
straight white
teeth--
the beer store
worker with his
stubble & loose
grey t-shirt
would take the first
key from his key ring
to unlatch
the door-- 
cold breath 
emanating-- tundra
thumbed-- polar
bear promises
echoed
across my prickled
goose bump skin--
my father would
send me inside--
the scout--
i proceeded on
horse back
into the wasteland
of bagged ice--
set to return
to sweaty-palmed 
summer reverberating
off the pavement--
to my father's 
tin foil
car with hot
seats & broken
rear view mirrors--
there i
meandered deeper
i imagined
staying in the 
freezer-- pushing the 
door shut &
living among to
haphazard mountains
of artificial
ice & i thought
of all the miracles
of stillness
& how maybe with
the door shut i could
finally stop time 
long enough to
think-- i was twelve
& my stomach
was round with
cinnamon raisin
bagels & i was scared
of my skin & 
becoming a middle-
schooler & having
to fall in love
soon-- i was
scared of how quickly
midnights
gave themselves away
& whether or
not the ice would
melt
before we got home
& if i would
melt along with it--
the first time we visited
the walk-in freezer my
father shut the door
to show how 
there was a safety 
lock--
to prove that if
the door ever
shut behind
us that we wouldn't freeze
to death--
i wished life
had more
safety locks &
more walk in
freezers where time
could go & lay itself
down in bags-- 
fabricated mountains--
i grabbed a handful 
of ice & chewed--
taking the freezer into
my body-- giving
up all claims i
had to time--
this was of course
before i met you 
& much much before
i met myself
but i understand her--
coveting the coldness--
her father calling from
the other side
of the thick shut door
& her wondering
if there was anywhere 
to hide so that
she could stay longer--
she wanted to
take apart her
bones & her fat &
lay there as a 
bag of
ice-- unable 
to dissolve
in the graceless
heat of the sun
scolding her from
above-- skin
tinged red--
headache a jingle of
the key ring
& the door
swung open again--
my father walked inside 
& took me by the hand--
i lied &
said the safety 
latch was stuck 
& he slung a sack
of ice over his shoulder--
the cold persisted
through
my body the 
whole drive home 
& i sat on our porch--
sensing my
bones returning 
from ice--
& this was before
you knew me 
but if you happen
upon a walk in
freezer 
step
inside for me-- 
feel time resign--
your blood turn
to black ice 
in the drive way
you can have
my brown brown
eyes & my
goose-bump gravel
skin--
next time
my father won't
be there to open
the door--
& summer won't 
wait with eager
insults
& i will sculpture
myself 
still 

will you teach me how to fall asleep?

every so many
nights i forget again
what sleep is
& i lay awake with
the color of the ceiling
getting harsher &
harsher above my head--
heart vanishing into
moths with no light
to fly towards--
the darkness of my room
takes on the body
of the mountains--
looming--framing
the sky--
clenched knuckles
white--
above me i 
watch you become
a hole in the ozone--
the ceiling 
a kind of wound
to let in
our ultra violet sex--
will you teach 
me how to fall
asleep again-- press
your warm thumbs 
over my eye-lids
& teach me how
deep we can
each trip behind
our own shut eyes--
what kind of darkness
is there to
stumble upon?
what kind of rocks
will tremble
in me?
i'm asking you
because i trust you--
because i know 
that sleep has escaped
from you too--
in all different
wave lengths--
left our bodies
sun burnt
in shadow-- 
love me red &
throbbing--
do you remember
who first taught
you to sleep?
i think it was
the god hypnos--
his cave guarded 
by poppies--
cancerous soldiers-- 
forgetfulness
flowing--
the river lethe--
there in his
ebony bed-- devoid of
light & sound 
there was nothing
left to do but
to discover
sleep & in doing
so claims half of
our lives--
the reflection--
oh live in these
mirrors
with me i want
to be opposite
tonight--
take my hand when
we walk into 
his grotto--
if you forget
my voice replace 
it in your memory
with the 
drip of melted
snow
from the roof--
i will remember yours
as the sound of
moth wings 
beneath my
ribs--
is your bed made
of ebony &
do you eat poppies
to fall asleep--
help me peel off
my skin--
oh i feel like a snake
& when we 
wake up there 
will be no
more ozone &
we will live
red & scratch
ourselves
open again &
again
but for now i
want to bask
in your stillness--
your imageless
soundless
form-- lurking
with me in the 
birth place
of all of our
first sleeps--
oh & thinking
of you how it
that even here
i feel the sun's
deadly
bright eyes
eviscerate me--
leave
me flowing
forgetful
over the knuckles
of the rocks--
what was your name
& is it you
who will teach me 
how to fall 
asleep?
you with your 
skeleton
overtaking
the ceiling--
the heavens were
always a type
of scar
to be had--
this time when
i lay down in 
bed i'll remember
you & me
& our lost anatomy 
in his grotto--
heavy
weary with
travel--
when you find sleep
again will
you please
come back--
bite my ear--
kiss my neck--
i would give
up
all light & sound
for the warmth
of your body--
i'll be
waiting
for you--
break through
the mirror
& spend your 
seven
years of bad 
luck in a dream
with me--
sleep tastes 
metallic--
trickle of
blood--
snow thaw