library

I feel bad about when I’ll die
–your inheiritance–
All these words about
the sex I had with men
who weren’t you.
Books I read that we
never shopped for
and songs we did not
argue over.
Someday,
you will be holding these pages,
all of my guilt pressed
in your fingertips,
ridges of ink instead of
the strands of my hair,
and from under flowers
blooming slowly by
gravestones,
I will be [...]

Keening

Sitting on the red couch
inside your prism house,
our conversation pouring
ankle deep to the floor,
she rushes in.
Enraged,
her fists full of my verbs,
she hurls them at me
as I trip through the door.
I awake at the slam,
breathless,
heart poundingly
 mute,
able only to write this
reticent farewell
to you.