Untitled

Broken glasses and perforated boundaries
wine soaked laughs
crumpled canvases
running past the past
like a bullet from the barrel of a shot gun
getting caught

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I Don't Like Holding Hands

I never liked holding hands
smothering my pen
in his palm
My fingertips would grip soft grain
search your skin for scars
ask the lines when they were drawn
cross them
kiss your calluses
bury deeper in those spaces
between fingers
because that's where I keep my secrets

Fracture

Scripted stones
have somehow found their way
to my collar bone
where your lips use to lie
from time to time