Not much left

I cry in the shower and while I blow dry my hair so no one can hear me.
It's pathetic

Glorified Comrade

My secret husband
      strange in his sobriety
      whispers into my ears
      and keeps me glued to his side

God of soundness
     who rushes over me as a wave
     who ties down my chaos with promises
     who deems me a treasure, a possibility, a cure

Paradisiac lover
     we marvel at each other's bones
     we scream into each other's skin
     we will not resign

Eurydice

I caught a glimpse of you Orpheus
Arms full of willow branches
Eyes full of longing
I want to laugh into your kisses
And pull your hair over your eyes.

Three Perfect moments

1.
He wraps his legs in mine. He breathes into the back of my neck. It makes my hair damp. He holds both my hands until we are too hot. Then we push each other away. He is gone when I wake up.

2.
We decide to live in the front seat of the car. With the seats laid flat. We sweat all over the headrest.

3.
His son runs through a light-filled hallway. His hair turns to gold. I see eternity.

He never did.

I have this thing about laying on floors. It feels like being a kid. It feels safe. I used to lay on my floor under the piano and play with the pedals. I used to lay on the floor of my first apartment for hours staring at stucco and thinking. I used to lay on the floor after school and make my mom step over me to put things away. I used to lay on his kitchen floor next to the electric heater while he made stir fry or scrambled eggs.
After awhile he stopped asking questions. He understood when I couldn't move or speak.
I'm curled in a ball at his feet. He is writing a book. I'm crying.
I love the way he asks me questions
"Are you having a breakdown sweetie?", He asks it the same way he would ask you to pass the salt.
"Do you want me to stop writing for a bit?"-I want him to hold onto me so I stop sinking.
He doesn't make me explain myself.
He holds my face in his hands and wipes my tears away with his thumbs.
I'm crying about the way his neck tastes when I kiss it. And how much I hate him and I love him.
I'm crying about sharing cigarettes and how he serves food for me. It feels safe.
I wanted him to lay on the floor with me so many times. And he never did.

they took you

The night before they took you away from me
we stayed up until 3am
A continuing succession of cigarettes
blowing smoke through the screens in windows

We ate handfuls of dried cranberries
and drank a bottle of whiskey

You were the good kind of drunk.
The kind for kisses instead of punches
The kind where you act like a cat to make me laugh
and tell me we will get through this

We watched two episodes of Sherlock.
Then laughed instead of crying.

We made up codes for secret phone calls
We picked out baby names and gave eachother pep talks
We investigated a loud noise outside
and made impossible-to-keep-promises

 We refused to let it take us.
The situation. The news. Reality.

In the morning you left
You disappeared with the wind
You left a warm spot on the bed
I sat in it and held my knees

I had a friend kill a spider for me
because I felt too weak