Have you ever tried to throw something heavier than you through the sky?
If you have, you know how common it is
To throw with all your might
And be pulled away through the air with it
Because you didn’t remember to let go.
post script 2015, present day:
I tell myself:
“Love is soft
I am soft
Love is kind
I am kind”

Three months ago, Scene Five:
I was still in lust with your blood bank car.
We knew this even in dusk,
when I left it lonesome in the starry chill.

Scene four is a musky overcast in August.
The night he opened the book of life and villainy,
I remember splitting and scattering myself underneath her.
She tugged at my pearl-white underwear and bare naivety:
Split and scattered myself for her
Stripped and tattered a girl with her
When I was, at last, only anatomical,
I felt honor.
It was the single moment in which it will hit me,
Like her bite in my shoulder,
Like the speed that took me from the earth,
Like “taste what you know you want, god girl”
Like virginity pumped with heavy tongue and mixed in cheap alcohol.
I left myself like a misplaced key under the driver’s seat
in the wake of maker’s judgment:
August 12:30 am, scene four.

Scene one we’ve never seen each other in the daylight;
Our voices met the first and only time under June’s tongue-tied moon.
Hypnotized, I spread the glittery stubble from your jaw
It was like ink on my hands and
I remember
sitting on the floor last June,
a baby, in heels and a hiked-up dress,
painting my honest desire for you in the height between us.

July, scene two:
On each night my knees fall below the altar,
I watch her car burn trails in black around my town, every f***ing street.
The smoke rises and like a riptide, I find my identity misplaced somewhere within it.
However, on the street corner in which we kissed goodmorning, I didn’t remember wading in your toxins.
I wanted softness all over and shock driven through my body.
When I was six years old they told me to pick someone in the audience and watch.
When regret takes over a child’s body, she will revolve around that one face and should
never
look
away.
“Love is soft, Love is kind”
In the same play yard of tiny angels that night,
nine years later,
I watched the moon.
This moon stole my voice: whining and waning like a siren but we could not hear it over your moan anyways.
I realized that we are proprietor, and liars, and ghost.

Early August, Scene three:
“Love is soft”
“Love is soft but you are kind” I dream in her summer swamp
“We’re only sinners together pressed in your fantasy” she orders over my neck’s bruised softness.
You see, I know that I cannot feel together in this much dark,
when the only light is the cigarette she ashes on my sweater.
Beneath absolute sovereignty, I am reaching beyond the lips that I share with your girlfriend,
Beyond the teeth tearing what I swore was mine,
Beyond the corner of your conscience where I squeeze myself small,
Beyond the role I didn’t chose to play.
I wander behind my eyes and look for what I could still possibly have as my own.

After, 2015, present day:
Have you ever tried to throw something heavier than yourself through the sky?
Have you ever heard of a place between heaven and earth?
It’s always the same hour now when I float back to meet her
There, we encounter on a tree’s branch that, for some reason, I always know how to get to
I notice here that I am in peace without skin and body and bones beneath me.
In this hour of the night, I hear my sister’s arms wrapped around my shaking shoulders
and my father screaming at the empty car that’s still stuck in our driveway;
windows gray and we don’t know what’s inside, he should know that it scares me too.
I hear them from the tree where I am together with the dignity I used to be.
It’s too pure and flawless in this in between,
to speak of anything mortal.
but I see my mother say beside me
“Love is soft, daughter,
Love is kind”
And it’s so still and deaf
and we look,
Together from my place in tree,
just beyond the branches.