untitled

among some talk of you and me

with mint tea at my lips and

strong hands at my back like we were

humming in the dark, together; deeply.

the color of a nighttime ocean.

always telling myself

to stop thinking so much, while rifling through

the one dollar book bin with chipped fingernails

and broken sunglasses, heaved sighs for standing

up and holding a long blink to let the violet

settle in and i saw that moonbeam again and

"and." yes, "and." i think my favorite words is and.

and ain't no worry, it won't be long, she sang,

yes won't be long til

we're drowned at the bottom of the soft blue sea

with heads on seaweed pillows, there for eternity

where your golden mouth will sing forever to me

and amen.

walking up the street again,

and i can smell you on my sleeve like you were

here with me, again the long blink

and amen.

she asked me if my painting was of jacaranda trees

"yes, they are" she said. putting her hair behind her

ear and walked into the kitchen.

warm mint tea.

cascade.

open fist.

nadyne.

sweeping.

running in place like the dirt ground in a faulkner

novel. muddy alleyways and death.

muddy waters.

faces of deep south and wringing out aprons

on porches.

heaven.

oh, purple jacaranda tree,

bending softly to me.

black bark and feeling moss on

the northfacing trunk of

oh guide me home.

repeating my name to

stop thinking so much.

hunched over a one dollar book bin,

chipped nailpolish and broken sunglasses.

standing up. feeling novels between my ears

and clinking bracelets of the cashier.

darkness come early,

the sincerity of whispers,

cooling hot meals, oven mitts.

the color orange.

among this talk of you and me.

among my failed attempts at villanelle's

and sweeping sonnets to the street.

no.

i won't have fake candles or skip chapters;

no, you won't go to paris without me.

no, now i know you'll miss it here.

you'll miss me.

like how i smell you on my sleeve

while standing in the street.

like photocopied pages and tiny

notes in the mail.

verses.

chanel no. 5.

fabric.

fingertips.

cassette tapes.

cardboard cutouts of flowers and

hanging wreaths.

just talk of you and me. mysteries.

skulls and poison, the last lesson.

and my sleeve.