Read My Lips
Soft hands pry open crooked doors to see
if she is still there beneath heaps of light.
Lost in time, stuck on a coffee stained word.
She moves over, so I can feel her heat.
When creaky floorboards squeak and windows flee
from dull latches, darkness sneaks in and bites.
Her soothing voice chirps-she is my songbird.
She combs my wet tangles, being discrete
to catch any drops before they run free.
She's there when fragile things crumble and night
time feels long; when innocence becomes blurred.
Soft whispers to try to always stay sweet.
You won't want my help when you grow older.
I will - should have meant it when I told her.
for a piece of my body.
I'm forced to watch
as I'm shaped
into all the excess
things you chain
I feel your ink
against my flesh
as you try to capture
the magnitude of human fallibility
in your novels,
but somehow forget
to look down at the saw
clenched between your hands.