Saturday, June 28, 2008

what is, was, and can never be.

you're dirty.

fingers caked with
fish and worm guts
pizza flour
pot and tobacco
dust from
the dozens of rocks
we crushed

etched out
with fingertips

smeared across
my legs

around your throat
while your eyes
burn green
or are they blue?

wrapped around the fallen trunk
while I run my fingers
through the impossible
of your mohawk.

2 years later and I still can't resist
the memories
my fingertips ache to make

we negotiate and dance
around what was
what is
what isn't
and it's all

you do splits in my kitchen
you put ink under the top layer of my skin
[to replace yourself]
we watch diving birds
you know that even if there isn't
a hair
or bug
on my back,
to rub my skin anyway
because sometimes it can't be seen.

we flow like the river
we rise like the tide
you promise to take the doors
off the jeep
because you know I like to ride
with my feet outside
air the only thing I don't mind
touching my feet.

the faerytale, ended.
the revolution begun
I can still taste
the smell of you
on my

I'm not on fire
but the ashes come anyway
and I'm reborn
as the river washes them away
along with the rock dust we
left behind