I left your place with nothing
to say to the paper skeleton
hanging on your door. Walked
the street in old, browned
loafers to meet other friends,
no celebrations to celebrate.
Your birthdays always pass
without fanfare. I see ribbons
in you when you do not.
Candles, cake, club
music. Striating lights
to spotlight, embrace,
then the world– its
countless, colorful
ribbons– would spin
around us, give you this.
(originally published in Across the Margin, Summer 2020)
Pepper burned my mouth
and all I could think of
in that salivated flame
was you telling me your tongue
no longer felt the heat
of a moment: meaningless
sex– bite and garment
here between the green
walls of your zen room
your small goldfish
swimming in circles–
submerged flame and hunger
for love so intense
I flicker poems to you
thumbs on lighters
waiting for the matchbook
to catch– combed pomade
hair, designer jeans, and wit–
what I want is origami
and fire– instead
we talk about love
but unlike Raymond Carver
we have nothing
more to say.
(originally published in Words Dance, Summer 2017)