LOVE
I Had Something to Tell Him
I had something to tell him,
something like the interstices
between tree branches at dawn and dusk,
the peak between the in-breath and the out,
a whisper formless and formed only when his eyes,
his contours, evaded me.
If Love is Fabric, If Love is Blood
You stand under street lamps in a blue suede suit.
Take beating like a sparrow.
Beaming
rhizomes
tree-tremored
under feet
Oozing
ink
veined-wells
black street
You straighten your tie,
walk toward me.
If love is fabric, if love is blood, what’s me & you?
You stare, through sparrow eyes,
something between us moves.
When I Loved You
The day you wrote your number for me on a piece of tape,
people shook their heads and whispered:
She’s gone off the deep end.
You were raw, dark, uninhibited.
You told me you were done trying to impress people.
You apologized for being so boring.
It’s funny, that’s why I admired you.
We’d sit on your porch in the fall.
Watch the leaves – red and orange –
scatter to the ground.
You asked me what it was like
having everything planned.
I didn’t answer, only wanting
to hold you and soften the look in your eyes,
which were too still and too sad.
I didn’t know that something too sweet
could start to taste bitter.
That I could open my heart in ways
that made me fear myself.
You tried to hurt me with words.
Told me, you deserve better.
You should get out of this town.
I did and never stopped thinking about you.
I could live in the most exotic place,
in the most well-to-do part of town,
and still miss that spot on your steps,
the honor of your silence.
Now, sitting on my porch in the fall,
I listen to the sounds of an empty street.
I didn’t know how to tell you I love you.
Something like simplicity,
and the falling of leaves.