universe

sometimes i manage to forget the curve of

your shoulders, the taste of your skin on mine,

the lulling ache of you inside of me --

but they don’t make greeting cards for this. 

the simple act of forgetting, even if just for one 

hungry second of this relentless pulse, i ride

it like a beggar, hungry for salt

and sweet, sweet denial. you never understood what it was like to sit

in dangerous quiet and use your voice as an instrument

of justice, to follow the faint scent of autumn towards spring,

to write words so true they sting on the page even after

the ink is dry, and the war has ended. 

never let the universe regret you 

i think she said, but somewhere along the line you forgot

to listen. how does it feel to know that even

Hell doesn’t want you? i wish i could say that and smile

but then i’d start to remember and i would remember and remember

and remember your hot breath on my neck, the tingle of betrayal

between our damp bodies, the vividness of you walking away; 

and then, when the smoke sings on and the stars cower from the sight,

i will put you in a jar with all the other things i’ve lost

and seal it tightly, quietly knowing that some day i

will open it again and i will remember and remember

and tell everyone.