WHORE

Dont hold my face in your hands
and lie in my eye
we both know the lack of who I am.
Your lips
may be moist and sweet-
But remember
I know the smell of dishonesty
in both
your and my sheets.
Sure I allow myself to be your
Wild
Haired
Ornery
Revolving
Expression
of the many faces you've come to hold
Only now I know to accept it.

amy lynn

pressed

I caught you today, nose pressed to the glass of the window- trying to sneak a glimpse of my night. Did you find the glass warm? Were you at home in the smells sneaking under the crack of the door? Did you think the fella lounging in what used to be your big chair as beautiful as I do? MM. Could you read his lips? You recognized his gratitude without syllables to fill your ears?
You're glimpse becomes a stare. You're visit was prolonged by the ache. You get lost in the whats coming next . . . you read it all like a novel when it's your current event.

For a moment I was alarmed, you hanging on every word. I was able to just pretend you weren't there. I've been in your shoes. Lost in a world I don't recognize as mine looking to be filled in how you choose to spend YOUR time . . . but I could never keep it up. So I found my own. The conversation is so rich, the food so damned nourishing and the solitude - just bigger than sound. I'm learning a new language and rekindling the relationships that define me.

I learned it while my nose was pressed to your bedroom window- bed empty every night in search of latest adventure . . . falling into the sheets after 6 or 4. Resting like you'd never been so full-filled in all your life. I wanted to sleep like that. Full- with peace for my journey. Knowing I'm climbing to the top, not just sitting at the bottom waiting for you. I no longer want to be on that path next to you. The people are far more interesting over here thanks.

For a long time, I would lend you my slant on culture- great music- the soul in blues guitar. In you, It never felt like home. You were all about a different scene- yet tonight, your nose is pressed to my window. The taste of our meal fills your mouth as if I brought a plate to the door, better yet invited you in.

I hope you can smell that I wore what used to be your favorite scent. If you stick around, you'll see him enjoy stuffed French toast and curling up to a live rare recording of something full bodied and deep while reading the Sunday paper- over his shoulder- nude and confident in my glow.

Really, guy. Peel yourself away from the edge of my life and remember- you had this. You threw it away.

We're done!

tandem

tandem
solitude in unison
tension pâté on stale baguette
water rusted from the stagnate
of words left tossed
on the bathroom floor
dishonest definitions - implications
that couples swords with feathers
go ahead, take a stab at that air!
this was my last attempt-
there's no welding your words to the wall.
my tongue is scarred thick
my wounds heal better
in solitude, tandem.
i'll nap a piece.
kiss a friend on the cheek
and make a big supper to fill this hole.
i'll cross the bridges i have yet to
burn and share my table.
to realize-
i've never felt more alone in all my life
then when by your side.
~a