Your Fonder Heart

Monday, January 12, 2009

Paradise is still lost.


I wrote you letters, I typed them
on my Smith-Corona.
Restarting with each mistake,
telling you stories of delicate,
cold sunrises.
Sunrises which I have never seen, for
each night I am awake into the wee
hours of the morning, falling asleep as
the moon rises in the East.
You told me, "I love the coast the most,"
but God damn, what about me?

Loss of sight.


The love between two people,
nothing alike,
nothing in common other than
a love
formed through fear
of not being together.
So that in the future, you can remember that
being together was lonely,
but also just enough
so the loneliness didn't
hang
like your thoughts on life and death
when you step outside for a cigarette.
He hates you and your cigarettes, and you will die
lonely.
You will die rough hand in soft hand,
tool-baring hand in dish-washing hand,
idolized by the friends you knew well enough to
remain distant from.
And you will die happy that you are not alone,
even if that means being lonely.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

this love: unraveled


This love,
which began as a molehill, and as
so many other things, soon transformed into
a mountain.
A violent, unfamiliar journey,
obstacles and surprises.
Like trying to squeeze a pillow into it's case
after doing laundry.
It seems like it should be so
simple
and easy,
but it's a wrestling match, a feat of strength,
and no satisfaction can be found at the finale.
That night, sleeping on this pillow
will not feel right.
Where do you go from there??

no release.


How do you expect me
to rid myself of all,
of everything,
of all this, this turbulence of the heart?
These hurricane winds,
the smell of hair product,
the untied shoe lace,
the music in your car?
I've been saturated with everything
that is you,
so please add one more piece,
the last piece,
the cure to this un-release.