absconded

it was never you i fled from, you with a heart like a lighthouse and hands that pulled me up from the dirt, never minding when i left mud and wretch on your clothes; and it’s always you i carry through each hour, a glimpse of effervescent eyes and your ephemeral flickered grin, your shoes on my feet and your words braided into my hair. how many times now have i held my head between my hands and damned the chasm swallowing you, effacing me more every day? when was the last utterance of your tender sobriquet, a surprised shout calling from the sky? my stars still laugh in your voice, incandescent amidst the yawning swath of black. how long have you known my dear, that I’m not coming back? that twin bedsheets with blue and yellow stars would stay folded in the cupboard,  your glossy faces taped to walls you’ll never reach? transcend the corporeal swell of water and time, stay close to me and trace my footsteps on the moth-wing map. tell me once again that perilous distance and faces that have begun to set cannot dim the luminescence of your balefire eyes keeping watch over the ocean.

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little universe.

Viscous hours
and vespertine seclusion,
the translucent interspace
between pipe dreams
and gaunt reality.

A tempest of technicolor chaos
and fractured interims
tainted by inkstained
remembrance.

Draw the curtains shut
so the grim streetlight can’t reveal
what I’m asking to ignore.

Close the door behind you
and lock me into an opiate
quarantine of revery,

illusory demesne
of perfect memory.

The gentle surreality
of your phantasmal embrace
can’t transcend
this perilous solitude

nor the mournful sunrise
that brings these
wounds into light.

Vagrant

I’m not your home.
Do not ask for a drawer,
housekey, a place
for your shoes in the closet.
Floorplan of ephemerality
and transience,
shifting walls with strangers in frames.

Didn’t you hear me?
Tucking into my shoulder
like I’m something
substantial, more to offer
than sheets and fleeting warmth,
a profane whisper of someday.

Try not to think about it too much.
Roll on and wish
for a final address
distilled silhouettes,

sturdy faces stepping into the hall.

Waking revery

“So,” she asks finally.

Did you die?”
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Awhile ago.
Back to sleep, my love.

“But where did you go?”
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Agoraphobic to boot-my boxed up
room is kingdom now.

“Is it warm where you are?”
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Maybe if you slide another
blanket under the door.