i look for you under the walls
the silent facebook smiles
plastered on top of my bare skin
are wires counting down… ten… nine…
i think of your smile… eight… seven…
crookedly endearing… six… five… makes me come… four… three…
back to where… two… hide-and-seek… one…
is a game i shouldn’t play.
i watch those shows
you mentioned. the ones
about writers and the
lovers of writers.
i sit naked. typing.
the day wears on me, humid
like you. you are
no lover of writers — poets, even less.
i sit naked, typing because
of you. undressing you
from me. i no longer write
to you. you are no lover
of writers nor poets. i am
unseen. i make do and make it
worthwhile. i am naked. you
are not. it is better this way.
you will pass naked, too
someday.
politics, in love, and war. ambivalent truth. corruption. bonded in blood. tied by fortune.
glass ribbons hold us
cracked open
by the wait
pregnant forces
unchanging tides
effortless needs
beneath a demeanor
i see a hammer
about to fall.
ants crawl in the spaces
between our eyes
they float in vitriol
black on yellow skin
churning in our silence
you see through me
the way shadows are cast
on the ocean floor
slit between
open mantles
i seep unto you
shifting 