Ten minutes.
Ten minutes more.
Just seconds even,
I lie. I lie to you.
I lie and say it will be enough.
It won’t be.
It will be enough,
to keep me coming back,
to keep me wanting for
ten minutes,
ten minutes more.


safe place.

you are a safe place.
strong and steady and firm,
a place barely discovered,
yet so, so beautiful.
maybe it will only be for a moment,
a place of temporary respite,
from winds that rage.
maybe you will be an island,
where i can lose myself, completely.
shipwrecked for days and months.
i dont know what is next –
in minutes or seconds or moments,
all i know is that for now – for today,
you are my safest place.


beautiful places.

Tell myself once will be enough,
tell myself so calm the fuck down.
Tell myself not to watch you sleep,
tell myself not to listen to you breathe.
What the fuck am I doing,
didn’t I say this was fucking casual?
There you are, cool drink of water
Tell myself I outta know better.
Sleeping in your t-shirt,
like attachment is something
I can toss like the empty bottle
of Wal-mart wine I used
to forget your touch.
That’s a little fucked up,
that I’d fall so hard,
in such a short damn time.
I can move on.
I can keep going.
Pretend you never gave me what I needed
which is complete bullshit.
I hope you know.
I hope you know.
All arms and legs and whispers
and taking me to places,
I hadn’t seen in awhile.
Beautiful places.
It was worth it,
So fucking worth it.



I asked you to kiss me.
But you got in your car,
while I stood there, ridiculously.
I made myself vulnerable.
I put myself out there.
I asked for what I wanted.
I just did, you said.
That was the moment.
I made the decision,
to never let you hurt me again.
I will not ache for your touch.
I will never stand there,
with hopeful eyes,
asking you to love me
with more than words.
So, when you wonder,
why I gave up, quit –
that was the moment.
I opened myself to you,
and you sewed me shut
with a needlepoint –
neatly stitched with
“not interested.”




It’s funny how a chair in a picture,
in a house you used to walk in and out of,
like it was your own, like you lived there
because you almost sort of did –
it’s funny how that chair – just in the background
sitting there like a book or a shelf
or some other thing that has found its place there –
that chair, let me tell you, it’s a memory
hidden right there in plain sight.
it’s seen a lot, that chair has,
holds a lot of memories and if you look here
at this picture, maybe you can see them.
or maybe not, because after all,
it is just a chair. a piece of furniture,
can’t talk at all, or so you’d think.
but it’s okay. it’s okay.