Knots

I met you in the purgatory of night and day,
Somewhere along the sea and the sand.
With that first smile, we were bound together in thread
With that fist kiss, we were tether by twine
With that first "love", we were shackled in wires
And then we were entwined.
But as we danced along that summer in our naked feet,
We turned to find we were tangled.

Now, if I tried to fly
I'd have to take you along.
You would hang from our strings and glare up at my wings
You would cry and your tears could soak an ocean.
I bet I could ignore you,
If I kept my eyes on that weary horizon.
And maybe one day I'd cut you free

So you could fall into her arms.

Make it Mine

"Wake up everyone! How could you sleep at a time like this?... unless the dreamer is the real you. Listen to your voice, the one that tells you to taste past the tip of your tongue. Leap in, the net will appear."
-Jason Mraz

Storm

I want you
the way a decaying typewriter
wants fingers telling a story of romance
after thirty years forgotten.

I want you

the way a pine sappling

wants summer's sweet smile

while it endures a foot of crisp snow.

I want you
the way a half-empty half-gallon of milk
wants to be poured into a glass beside a cookie
before it's past the date of expiration.

I don't think I need you.

Of course, the line
between desire and necessity
is finer than the line
between the sea and the sky.

And some days there's no line at all.

Stain

The table between us is awkward.
It's my fault really, mine and Ondine's. We make everything in this room uncomfortable... but mainly just ourselves. When she looks at me, I see what we were: the laughter and the secret and the crossed lines.
And the love. That should be there too, becuase I think we had that. I know I had that, but it's not in her eyes anymore. I bet it's in mine.
I look to the cieling to hide from her and follow the fan a few times around. It's lazy and decaying, just like everything in this too small, too hot town.
"Ben," she says. It's an apology.
I look to her and give her a mangled smile because tears never help times like this.
"I'm in love with someone else." The words are slippery and drip to the table before spilling onto the old carpet.
They'll stain, for sure.
I take in that golden hair and those puddle eyes and the constellation of freckles, and know it'll be the last time.
"Well. That's good." I'm pitiful and my words are a kicked puppy. But even that can't stop me from admitting that Ondine's the only thing that's kept me here, and I'm taking the next plane out.