My Heart Is With a Woman

The last time I got into my body,

I left a strand of hair, a fist full of joy, 

and the back lens of my mind behind. 

They say home is where the heart is 

but no one tells you what to call home 

when your heart is in the hands of a woman.

3 times and counting,

I have knocked on the hardwood of skin, 

each “come in” less inviting than the last.

No one wants to own a body where they are guests, 

no one wants to get permission 

before feeding. 

So I borrow my heart from the hands of this woman. 

I tell her it is for a short while, 

that I must present it to the owner 

who has never seen it nor felt the power of its touch. 

I snatch the hair and unroll the memories

Until I am home and we are happy.

Come to Me as You Are

I am carrying the world an inch deep beneath my skin.

I am blood and flesh, tearing at each incision

Until there is no tissue to hold me together.

In this unravelling of my madness, 

Where I strip each layer to sound of pain, 

tonguing through tears, and frail will,

I am grateful for your feet, 

And light and sharp objects.

I am thinking of the time I told you I was ready to love.

You showed me how easy it is to fall into a well,

And how hard it is to drown.

Breathlessness is easy: hold 1-2-3. 

Hold again until your heart is heaving.

So if you are ready to fall into my heart, 

I’ll let you have what is left, 

What I have kept for a day like this.