Thoughts become Things

these are things that I could not tell you;
things that remind me of you when I want nothing more than to forget;
things that have gone wrong;
things that have gone right;
things that will never happen;
things that are your fault,
my fault,
the faults of no one;
these are things that we did not do and will not let go

Words fucked art and the baby they made was ugly

a pretty flower. a pretty face. pretty trash and drawings on walls. pretty words. pretty lies.
and nothing. just staring. just sunshine. just rain. just fangs. just blood.
just everything.
just nothing.

there is something about the redundancy in this art.
in our words. in the photographs.
all the moons
and stars and stuttered sighs.
in that kiss that left you breathless.
our familiar tastes.

all of us- the same.
all us...... seeking attention.love.avoidance.points.money.memories.stories.
all us strangers
and lovers and fighters and mother fuckers.

all of us caught up in the illusion of thought.

that voice inside my head. asking. wondering.

is this beautiful?

things written while stopped at traffic lights

choking heat rolls over the road. i hear sirens. I pull to the shoulder, cars pass but there are no emergencies. the sirens were in my head. I have to be careful. I have to be careful what i wish for. last time left me wanting so much more.

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the parting gift of knowing you would. and i would. and while saying nothing.
we do.

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it's strange when you know so much about someone, that is now fucking someone else. I want to remember her for other things besides sex but those other things are obvious, not hidden. everyone can see she is cute, funny and shy, stubborn, bossy- a smart ass. maybe they don't. maybe it's just the part she played for me. not everyone knows she sweats a lot in bed. soaked sheets, hair sticking to face. body heat. she moves a lot, moves her hips. slow and then fast-faster. she said my name. she fucks it good when she is on top, but doesn't suck it with the passion that others have shown. she likes a hand around her neck, choked and her hair pulled, her face smacked. i know these things and i wonder if she is a whore for him too. or is she just my whore? does he do those things to her? does she still get that. does she miss it? miss me sometimes. letting me. being my whore - always my whore.

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that night. our hotel room with the big bathtub. the time we met there, when after we finish one of us leaves. you meet your boyfriend later smelling of me. i stay there in the hotel room, writing. there is nothing to say that isn't confusing. if we can do this and it feels so good, why can't it be us?
i loved those moments and glimpses. the shape of your body still pressed into the bed. filling the void. how our pieces just fit. i like you. if we could have lived with that, with what we are. what we need from one another. can you live without it? we don't have to, but we do.
i guess we'll see.