Your beauty is
askewed by what feels like the
biggest ocean in this world.
Distant in more than one sense of the word.
You shoot me with your one-word arrows
they go right through my chest.
Clean, cut, handsome.
And as I count the holes in me,
wishing you’d just touch them,
I find out where I belong.
Pat Benetar said once that Love
is a battlefield.
Maybe she forgot to also explain
how we reenact a different World War
you, crawling into bed with me.
And my legs ache like I’ve been
standing for 23 years,
but you never came to bed.
Let Germany rejoice.
We’ve avoided a catastrophe.
i am smoking my last cigarette.
this depresses me.
what also depresses me is my whole life.
my sister is moving to madison in three weeks and i am scared shitless
because she makes me so happy
and she will still make me happy when she is gone
and i will write her letters
and skype with her when i’ve had a lot of beers
and text her when she’s drunk and laugh at how horrible her conversation skills are
and still love her so much, from 328 miles away.
i have finished my cigarette, and my tears are frozen to my face.
because it is cold in minnesota
but it’s cold in Madison, too.
you are a few hundred miles away and i can still smell you on my goddamn skin. we are watching the same stars, and that doesn’t comfort me, it makes me ask why. what can i say? you’re far away. i’m sorry i’m here. why am i writing this? i dont love you. how close am i to it, though? how close am i to losing it altogether? and tonight, when i lay my head down and close my eyes and try (futilely) to catch some sleep, will i feel you sliding your fingers over my hips and waist and lips? i will, i know i will. i will always remember. my excellent memory will be the imminent death of me.
“hey, are you awake?”
“yeah, i’m right here.”