Two Figures with Flowers

I am two states away staring 

at the same picture that hangs on a wall in your house 

it reminds me of the last time I saw you 

flames in the background. 

I am staring at this image 

remembering how tired I felt in that moment 

when you shifted into shallow 

all my limbs aching from confinement 

my heart on the floor 

torn between the relief 

the freedom of closeted love 

and the grief of losing you. 

Two states away my hands 

my hips 

remember the feel of lust in the dark 

away from prying eyes 

a secret I could not keep 

not for long 

your body's press on me 

the way I reveled and moaned. 

Tomorrow I will leave this state 

a steering wheel trapped between my fists 

headed back to my life 

the one you never inhabited fully. 

Is it coincidence that this painting 

exists in two different states 

or that you attempted to siren song me 

back into your bed of lies 

or that my hands crave the geography of you? 

I have been looking for home 

in all the wrong closets 

in all the wrong smiles 

welcomed more warmly by strangers 

than by you, who claimed to know me

or want to. 

This painting 

these two figures 

they peer out so full of sadness and regret 

I feel they may be warning me 

the smaller figures eyes 

seem to implore reminding me 

"remember what happened last time"

the flowers have nothing to report.

Recovering Some of the Muse

You ever have multiple disappointing relationships? Lots of great times but the not so great parts take you to places you never thought you'd go until you find yourself there, but you couldn't be there because you'd never go there. Remember? Residual angry all over the place. Rough, but when it's shiny it's going in the book.

hungry for full contact
but there is nothing
nothing here is normal
and tasteless tears fill our mouths

tambourines play the perfect soundtrack
all sorrow
and shrill
and going through the motions

ghost in the middle of a haunting we drift
the walls cover their ears
even they are tired of the lies

night slips into darkness
my hands part your thighs
feasting my selfish desire
your pleasure is only a side effect
my starvation has grown full blown
I will consume you until you pass out

the empty
that is this
emaciated existence only
seems to work only if you are unconscious
I put back on my clothes adjust my mask
leave the catacomb that is your bedroom

this new diet is not working for us
you gave up the few words and strung together half thoughts
struggling
wishing they could be conversation

if this is purely a physical thing
we can certainly keep up this routine
as long and not fool ourselves into believing
this is anything deeper

we don’t have to feign a relationship
we will we will both starve in
You and I
we can have sex with anyone we chose
but sex alone will not sustain a partnership

I mean,

I've been eating here for months
and I have never once been full