I drag green corpses to your feet
to enter your temple
climbing steps with
haikus inscribed on them.
I pray with my body crouching
and stretching inside yours,
Like a wolf I feed on you
and you feed on dead men like me.
You stack ghosts in your body
of men who bury themselves
in the soft soil between your thighs.
They leave reborn,
shedding their drenched spirits
inside of you.
You remain beautifully haunted,
but you only count
the dead men packed
in the mausoleum of your safe.
I want to be in
one of your poems
The woods of your words
Seeing your imagery song birds sing to me
From the trees of your imagination
I will carve my name on my favorite tree.
I want to live here
Among the beat of your syllables
And hum along.
Watching the sunrise of your muses.
Don’t put that pen down
I don’t feel like going home tonight.
Tears tumbled from my eyes
down the cliff of my face,
and you were not there
to bury them.
you always call me
but the halo
has fallen over my neck
like a golden collar.
I’m tired of being their dog,
I’m ready for it to tighten.
We were star crossed,
but we sewed our stars together,
tying the threads of our existence into one interrupted light.
We used that light to guide us home,
over and over again.
Until, one day, you started following a broken compass,
slowly untying yourself from me,
and allowing my stars to fall like a torn pearl necklace.
I clung on to a piece of our fading fabric
and now I use it to dry my tears.
I see our picture glimmering in the cloth
and my tears still pray to us
as I sit under a flickering streetlight,
pretending it is the star of your touch,
at the dark corner of forgiveness and heartbreak.
I left my kiss
like a moon
hanging on the skies of your lips.
You will remember me.