library

how much i miss
my solitude -
the daily walk up
to the writer's room, the
silence full of pen scratchings

through the rain i'd run, book
tucked under arm,
hood pulled
low over my eyes.
the alone-ache
blending into something i
could live with - a painful
waking
pins and needles

unsatisfied

you left me gasping, body
[clit] still throbbing
aching for completion
as you sank into slumber

and i used my tears to water the bed
because it was the one thing
i'd wanted, in a day filled
with a line of spectacularly
shitty things -
i gave up
left my body huddled, alone
drifting in blankets
that were not warmed
by your sleeping heat -
you could have
not been there at all

southwest

what will we remember, when
these years are through? a
scent of dry grass, the unbearable
heat of a scorching sun -
agave

speechless

my dull, bleeding mouth
chewed in indecision,
the moments
when i bite back
words - the
things i do not say
drowning
in my mouth

a household obscured

languid evening
smoke curling around
the air, hugging
the walls & ceiling
smoke drowning it all -
the noise of tv, the dishwasher's
dull hum
is lost in haze
[a household obscured]

storm

i wish it would rain
hard,
wash away
all my anger -
the resentment i hold close,
the lack of brightness
to my days.
if i am dark, the sky, also
should join the night.
the wet grass, water streaming
from my car as i accelerate, &
stop.
the people slouch along, as if
the clouds press them more firmly
to the earth.
i straighten my shoulders, take my place
in my environment.
let the rain fall,
let this all wash away.