jigsaw

what's
sticking
in my mind
is that
you couldn't
get over
how soft my hair was

like you'd forgotten the feel of it
(in two weeks only)
just
newly washed,
that's all -
nothing
special

and still, delight
in this
for me.

then, the usual
overwhelming sadness
(I still don't understand it. It's
like some foreign, in-hiding
part of me)

and then, the usual
vine-limbs tangling
turning into
heads pressed together
turning into
lips softly searching in the darkness
turning into
me finding your collarbones
turning into
you
turning yourself
into me

and myself and yourself
turning ourselves
inside
out
together

"one more creature 

dizzy with love"

- Bukowski

summer ghost

I keep thinking
I hear
footsteps
up the path to our house

but really it's just
the plastic sun roof
growing
in the heat.

bug

my head is so full of the world

and so greedy to glutton myself up with it

all of it -

so hungry 

I don't know

which bite to consume first

so anxious 

I can't step forward 

into or out of my peripheral 

14-15

comfort won't fit
wth comfort-seeking

and staying
won't hold
for longing

I've thought of all the mountains and rivers bedding me again
but you're worried of what else I'll --
despite the fact that
I've had to sleep in your mistakes
(well, at least you
changed the sheets...)

last summer
drowned in fibreglass,
this summer
determined
to float on indecision