in your five bedroom house and
a Manhatten Exhibition room mate.
Burnt orange and a sacrificial
seat topped with a skull,
black and red meet in the middle to
make his name, on Manhatten moving trucks.
I was born to feel and breath in the empty
spaces, to pace and count and struggle,
even in the dead of night;
we came here for a reason.
I stand at your doorway marveling at
ancient hardwood floors and giant
kitchens that can't possibly belong to
five boys in a peculiar house.
It is your space for such a short time to come,
and I cringe as we ascend stairways already
familiar, and yet already gone;
they will be lost when the time comes,
why become familiar with them today?
We count on moments, on conversations,
on time shared in gardens of roses that
neither of us can name, even if they aren't yellow;
the magnolia tree lent branches to my bare feet
and your determined adventurous side.
I can't hang from the branches long enough
to let myself slip in to our conversation,
looking down makes me shake and I
take your hand for a moment.
I'm sifting through the miscommunication,
the place where I pushed the buttons and you
pushed back, clashing determinations.
Our courage comes not from knowing there
is future, but from knowing there
could be a history; it's already written,
it's in your eyes - they exist separate
and infinitely honest.
I fall in quickly, holding my breath,
pouring out through pupils and my own
green lenses, intimidating you and laughing.
Is it a woman we are seeking, under the
canopy of evening light?
She was hidden for far too long,
holding her breath while waiting for
an escape from the years of suppression,
nights of wondering, holding onto, desperation.
We've lost it all on paths under moonlight,
on twin sized mattresses, in between concerts
and a few more drinks that go around,
slipping through crowds and groups of fingers.
I rise in the morning wondering, can I explain
this one away, put words to fleeting emotions,
open doorways and look behind them with
courage and determination?
We'll find it swimming in the deepest lakes,
when the chill comes anyway, and we hold
onto the rocks along the edges.
Everything comes out deep green and blue,
your tannest skin and the lack of space
between me and you.
