flying somewhere againwhat does it matter whereall these thousands of feetup in the midnight skyyour ghost flies along with mewithout stopping to breatheoutside there is a stormand inside it rages still
even as I stareinto the inky blacknessof night-time sky35,000 feet up in the airyou are right therestaring back at me
broken by you completely,I no longer knowhow to love
there were daysI wished those tricky roadstook your life
I know what it isto love a man like youI will not steal from herI know what it isto be broken for youbleeding all over the place
one last thing this year:finally letting you go -you are not mine now.
do you even knowyou have tamed a wild thing,made it yours?
celebrating us:I am still breathlessat the thought of you -even after all these years.
and now,whenever I soarjust a little too high,I remind myselfhow you unloved me -and it burns my wingsright down.
to think wetried to teach each otherhow to love
just when I thinkit gets betterclothes throw me –this top,wine red, pinstriped,brings to mind howit made youwant to turn back,take it off me,take the day back –make it oursI don’t want to seewhat you once saw –andno longer desire
don’t undo me like thisif you don’t mean tokiss me again
My heart was lost completely in that magical moment when you turned and looked at me for the very first time and whispered ‘beautiful,’ your dark deep eyes filled with everything I’ve ever wanted. We were at our highest then. After that it was only fall.
The other day – drink in hand, at sunset – you said people don’t ever really get over someone they love.I was trying to explain that old rule of thumb I read somewhere, where they say it takes half the time you were with someone to get over them.No, I don’t believe it either.
(the memory of)your kiss is still a knife I holdbetween clenched lipsa live bullet insidemy mouth
there are anniversariesthat creep up too softly,taking away everything:in remembrance,in remembering;I remember.do you?
you standbehind a wallof silenceI sit hereand bleedwordsI don't knowwhich one of usis wiserbut I knowwhich one of usstill loves
getting over you is scheduled for once in every two months – pace yourself in tripping me over: I’ve gotten over you in January just past; mess me up again on the Ides of March.
is it not enough that I know the shape of your smile against my skin?must I know everything?
sometimes in the afternoonsI see the moonhanging from invisible threadsin the sky it has your name carved on italways but there is no moon, and thereis no youthe eyes sometimes see what the heart wants