night poem

meet him at a bar
where i'll stay sober

i feel separate from my feelings again

find out they've decided to be exclusive
for all it was, i am not jealous
i am supportive
i am happy,
a capable friend
familiar feelings like home

again he uses the word mistake
but i know now he doesn't believe it
because if he did things would have been easy
black & white, at least to start

but i do think he's making a mistake.
maybe it's not the one he thinks

i opt to walk home
i need to take nothing in, give nothing up
just gulps of cold air to make my eyes water
only when i'm so alone am i cut enough
to touch the thorn of lucidity

unfinished poem

on his last night in the house
he'd ordered pizza and i brought movies
trick, dreamcatcher, the craft.
bobby unexpectedly bailed
we put in dreamcatcher and
i relished in the fact that i no longer felt
awkward or self conscious, only calm

mouse silently climbed on me more than once
his eyes dark pools of question
i guess we all felt like hugging and touching
it was nothing more than an answer; one answer
and not the one i wanted.
the rest is not ready yet--smoke expanding slowly
perhaps to take prominence as a flame
or only to warmly smolder

the night was neither glowing nor special
it was just us
his chin against my back,
hand come to rest below my chest
the fresh, cold air spoken into the bedroom
whispering something
i had to write down