hard life

when the edge of a sword
can be so soft and concealed.

when it can all be consumed
and thrown back up again.

when the great terror
is that it can all be revealed in a single, unstructured moment.

so all night he was distant.
and me singing in the bathroom

the realization that I can't be straight, that I'm not that straight, that the connection was an effect of my ability to approximate normalcy, is crushing but affirming.

but please, oh please,
let me press your heart into my
mortar and pestle, let me crush it for the aroma it releases,
because it smells so delicious when I am coming,
so healthy and pure,
the fresh herbs from a bed in its prime,
before the soil is depleted and even the basil can find no nurture.

you drove your pretty car after I left,
waiting for me to call,
you invite me back and I know I have you.