The lace glued to the mason jar--
inside, a flickering
desire. Outside the blue stretches
over and above: skin on a drum-- slick
and asking:
how I once sent words through clouds
to you, asked if I could
write you letters. You never answered
and in that silence--
your answer like an arrow shot into
the sky, hit some place
I keep unseen--
the dog burrows beneath covers, licks
the same spot
on my foot over and over-- the way I
can never stop
thinking about you-- you, between my
ears-- you
when my eyes open I have shaped you
over and
over-- you: ghost-clay wedged into
crevices of thought,
you bend, warm into wrinkles, into
skin-wilting
as is promised by time, I kneed through
you
over and over-- your eyes
the color of where that arrow shot,
pierce through
the gap of years between us.
******
I have a lover now. She has seen my
nakedness
and stayed. I no longer need your
fingers, your breasts, your undivided
everything but still, on mornings, you
overlap
and I want to hate you for it, want to
burn
you like a letter unanswered but you've
done
nothing, you've done everything: you're
a ghost/
you exist.
