If Bodies Were Weightless

It’s 53 degrees here
when it should be so much colder.
Over a thousand miles from your front door,
I’m crossing Texas Street to get my coffee
and I’m missing you.
I wish I could rip off these heart-sleeves
sometimes,
but I save them in case I get to bleeding.
The bursted bubble,
the no-air space,
the pin-cushioned heart
—there were days
I could’ve spent months
listening alone in silence.
The space, the floating,
bodies weightless without control,
but hoping for a spiritual revolution.
I find hope recounting each strand of your hair
the way I’m sure god does on his good days.
“If bodies were weightless”
was the first line I ever wrote about you.
I thought of two balloons
tied to the wrist of a boy
blowing dandelions into the wind.
We are weightless on our laughing gas,
Soft-shoeing, tapless, hovering
through the house.

Lover, let’s live out our love
and dance through our souls
—you’re the first dance step I ever got right.
Let’s burst at the seams,
make dreams that scare us,
love so boldly, so brightly,
you can see our stars at noon.
Our stars
build constellations that puncture the night.
Sweetheart, let’s find ways to connect our dots
even when there are too many clouds;
Bridge our gaps with light
so blinding you can’t see a shadow of doubt.

I’ll reach out for you with my love,
a folded crane, origami.
When you see the postman,
tell him you’ll keep it warm.

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Paper Graveyard

Maybe we could patch the miles together
with my skipping bones and your curls,
woven across the plains.

Your letters blanket the desk,
a field of broken seals, broken hearts,
the miles of distance in a paper graveyard.

In the night, my sadness masked by the dark—
You’d leave like a nightmare.

I hope the doorstep tripped you,
pulled out your breath from behind you,

and left it under the mat.

You swept me away
and I’ll never forgive you for that.

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Naked Party

inournakednights
rubbingbodiestohairless
framedinwrinkledsheets.

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Not Our Denton

Waking this small town
with bullets and violence;
It’s not our Denton.

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Dandy Lion – Revision

The quilts, the quiet;
the weekend we only ate sushi
then rolled ourselves in the sheets
like ghosts, like goblins,
gobbling gluttonous—
for granted.

Leaving curls on his pillows,
he called me Dandy Lion.
In weekends, in time
breezing through so fast
taking it in only in the
moments between
the pages, the distance.

The silences, the spinning,
how sorry we were
when we tried to look back,
how hard it became to look
forward, for ourselves.
I’ll tear you apart, said The Truth.
Leave those memories for better things.

And we did.
We left
for better, for us.
The distance saved us
and the memories left us happy
enough.

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Jenn

Let’s tell time in stories.
Let’s tell stories in dimes,
in losses,
in rounds of tequila in basement bars.

Let’s remember
when bikes meant freedom,
coasting through an empty campus
on summer nights.

Every winter,
we’ll wish for snow days,
“Baby, it’s Cold Outside,”
to group cuddle on couches
and drink each other’s beers.

And over time we’ll fill journals,
bind albums of our memories,
so we can press replay
and watch ourselves grow up together
over and over.

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Pill Bottle

Through the pill bottle
turning and tumbling ’round
—a kaleidoscope.

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