you forgot about the disco

i was on my way to telling you

 that you’re of steel and i’m coal

that we’re both strong.

don’t laugh

i’ve been trying for days

to grow words out of my feelings.

see, look closer -

tiny hand making a fist

swimming in grey, grey, black.

that’s yours, you know

not what you think

the fist, I mean - that’s all. 

treat the wax like amber

watch it paint itself across your body

you, the painted queen, reminiscent of a flame

they would harvest you for jewels if they could

while your bare, burnt sockets would remain

to slowly fill with rainwater, lichen, small particles of dust and smoke

and your waxen lips under soil

“a buried treasure!” (if you will) 

your breath comes as an echo

slow gasp

a breeze sent from farther places

too weak to catch the waves

and yet, slips under my ear

i think i saw the dark side of a smile

aimless yearning and the hands of ghosts

mine are cold but, then again

you had touched them years ago

at half-past midnight

there’s an unbearable loudness that starts in my throat

and I feel my insides swelling, a grey tide coming. 

my jaw is now a metal beam 

which grows heavy and aches.

a quiet rage grows under the bedroom light

hot air in an empty building.

can’t you hear it?

but there is only wallpaper

floorboards sounding their gentle adjustments

and the dull movements of bodies swaying

to and fro in their sleep.

I would ride the city in vain

   (ride the veins of a city)

take narrow turns at dusk

   (marrow turns to dust)

watch the streets grow cold

   (a snake sheds its skin)

hear the ground lift behind me

   (spine crackles on desert sand)

until I forget my skin

  (the wind will come soon)

until night swells over

  (the skin will grow back)