Speculating Cost

i met someone
with a quiet intensity
so very
excellent at small talk
with dry
hidden humor
much loved
by the neighborhood locals

no fault
could seemingly be found

so
much like a discriminating buyer
at a curio shop
i have been inspecting
dissecting
in the hopes of
protecting
any investment
i decide to put forth

i do not like
being this way
but i have
been subject to
so many instances of
Buyer’s Remorse

my heart’s wallet
cannot afford
another loss.

Splinters

How do we miss
and continue to love
the ones who have hurt us
irrevocably

is it the moments
though brief
full of promises
promises

never kept
always broken

(breadcrumbs for
emaciated birds)

shards of
good intentions
scattered
slicing
through stubborn
normally thick
skin
with ease

(tis but a flesh wound…)

like tiny splinters
hidden deep under fingernails

there throbs
a constant pain
of remembering
what was
what could have been
what will never be

stir-crazy

my fingers twitch
an itching under the tips
a nervous searching
for the smooth feel
of the skin
across your cheekbone

they tap
impatient and out of sync
a restless dance of
digits
unable to sit
still

my mouth
a continuous
phantom tingle
tickling
my lips
so i keep them
pressed tight
to dismiss
them missing you
because
they are not kissing you

the memory
of that
the faint brush
tender touch
of lips
lingering soft
but urgent
against yours
sharply inhaling
the exhale
of
your breath

wistful
the days
slowly yawn on
while
i yearn
for that
blessed moment
when
we were one

Sunday

It is Sunday.
Just another day
which was supposed to be ours.

Yet
Here I am
Alone
Realizing that

Days don’t belong
to anyone

They are just
measures of time
fading into the nothingness
of the
eventual forgotten

Still
it is Sunday

Just another day

Yet
I haven’t the Heart
The Desire
Nor the Wish
to share it with
anyone else.

the rain

it’s raining and i miss you.
i wish you knew how extraordinary a thing that is.

the rain talks to me
softest pit-pat of drops against the glass pane
like
a gang of cats jogging across hot summer pavement
too quick to count
slightly silent
save for the rhythm
a staccato in unison
what a paradox

but it’s singing to me
and i think of you
your voice
(sweet songs kissing my ears)
your words
(drowsy mumbled love notes late at night)
and echos of
your laughter
(the happiest of dreams)

it’s raining and my arms feel empty
(where are you)
my hands restless
(i need to touch you)
the gnawing ache in my stomach
(i am empty)

my body is in a frenzied disparate hunger
one which cannot be easily sated
appeased
quelled

so

alone
i listen to the wind
whipping water
at my window
imagining
it’s you next to me
speaking to me
singing to me
whispering to me
instead of
the rain