The night is inexhaustible and
I write you letters I will never send.
Take it on the chin; let me be your microcosm.
You wish to be well read, I wish to be understood—we let it part with the sea.
In the morning, I will forget.
Rug burns on my knees
I would slouch towards Bethlehem indefinitely
Placating ancient pantheons; let my mortality unravel in the name of our love.
What do you call my soul when it is not tourist season?
I will forget in the morning.
I float home and it bears me down
Saying my pleases and thank yous.
I learn to take it; I think of him and understand he does not think of me
You say I have to go, I say I know—we sip a cocktail of the mundane and the celestial, pretending it’s not bitter.
In the morning, I will forget.
I am the residue of divinity on your countertop
Jealous of the shirt you left here because it still has a piece of you on it
I needed a God the way some kids need a nightlight; even my prayers are rotting
Do you have to wring me out and leave me to hang dry?
I will forget in the morning.
Deconstruct my spine and demystify the integrity of my soul
I latch onto anything that will hold, even if it drags me over asphalt
How can I translate you; not in memory but in belief?
You liked me better when I was a concept,
I liked you better when you were nice—we started putting socks on centipedes.
I can pick up your dry cleaning
I can pick up your angry words when you smash them to the floor.
Ratify me in your livelihood; let me hold your permanence between my palms as I
cup you like a handful of holy water
It is morning: you forgot.
