I'm the kettle

still plugged in

and empty

I fridge door

ignore you

looking for love

You drip

faucet sadness

and drain me

We light left on

and leaving

dry crumb silence

When I found out I was coming over
I called you, said, I'm coming over for business
how about dinner?  And you replied with an email
of a comic strip that said, sure,
let's have an adventure.

And even though we've never talked about it much,
Even though we've never really even touched,
I found myself biking down cold streets thinking, this,
this is what it must be like to have an out of town lover.

Because last time, last time I was in town
the rain was trying hard to be snowflakes and failing
and you hadn't slept and I was hungover
but we both spent the day together wandering from
cafe to coffeeshop to skytrain to bus
as if destination could distract us from tension
and we could create a world for us.
And the whole day was perfect.

So when I walked into the club where we were supposed to meet
and saw you sitting in your seat, quietly waiting I thought, oh yeah,
we're going to have an adventure. 

And I fell in beside you and we fell to talking like kids fall into snowdrifts
with phrases so perfect they melted on our tongues as we threw playful metaphors like snowballs- we were only half watching the show.
And when the show ended and we stepped out
onto the streets of Vancouver they were covered in snow,
and your eyes flashed adventure. 

And I would have kissed you
under the streetlight
on the white carpeted road,
but my mother was coming to pick me up,
so i seduced you with a poem I invented instead
I said words that came into my head
in a rythum we both admitted we despised
and we both lied-
because the moment was perfect.

And I would have kissed you
in the field
would have pushed you down into the green cold
and got covered in snow,
but my mother was coming and I had to work tomorrow...

And I would have kissed you
against the graffiti on the alley wall
would have pressed my hips up against your thigh
and really kissed you,
but my mother was coming, and I had to work tomorrow
and I'd drank too much wine...

So I let the snow fall, and did nothing at all.

But I've written this same poem
too many damn times!
"Oh, I wanted to, but I just didn't try"
So to hell with excuses, and mothers and travel-
You are the adventure I want to unravel.

And next time, next time the cherry blossoms may be falling instead of snow
but I want you to know, that this whole poem,
was just a way to warm my lips up because
I will kiss you:

I will kiss you with the full force
of every crush I've ever crushed,
of every touch I've ever shied away from,
of every kiss I've ever missed,
of every dance I've never taken,
I will kiss you like this-

And it will be an adventure.

Thou still-precious, delicate work of art,

Thou empty-to-be-filled,

Thou pouring vessel of good things,

Thou admired, thou desired, thou singular

Stand alone.

Stand

Backlit by rising sun,

Let none grasp your sturdy handles

And seek to dash you to the floor,

Let none war over your sleek frame

Do not be pulled apart by fame.

For thou art precious porcelain

And neither hooves, nor horns nor hands

Deserve to be thy mistress.

So know thyself

as one who makes the whole complete,

Hold both the fern and the rose

In your deep chest,

Bring forth the beauty of togetherness best.

I am sitting by the fire
and she is coming down the stairs
She stares
and I am burning with shame
for all the things we cannot name
in waking hours
She inhales her cigarette
long and black
and points at me
and my mouth is ash

Bette starts to laugh

Children

Abandoned by their parents

Fall down drunk

Put their pictures of falling on facebook

And work day jobs in offices under florescent lights

Isn't this what you wanted for me

Mommy?

I'm happy, so happy can't you see?

In all my pictures I'm smiling at the camera

I'm surrounded by so many shining faces-

Children

Abandoning an adulthood grown sour with pollution

Fall down drunk

And live on facebook

Hoping to escape the harsh reality of florescent lights

There are no sacred places anymore.

So make love to me on the street corner

Pull my skirt up and pull the stop sign down

And after we are done

Trace my outline on the ground

And call it holy.

Take me between the book stacks at the public library

Pull all the books off the shelves

Smear their ink on my skin

There are no great sins anymore

Tear out their pages, grad a fistful of my hair

Break their spines as you hold mine

Suck my neck until I am blue and black

And call the stain you have made holy.

Make love to me on a grave

Let me hold the headstone like a headboard

Rip open my shirt

Work my hips into the dirt

Make each thrust hurt

Point at the impression my body has left in the earth

And call it holy.

Because nothing is sacred anymore.

And I walk around stuffing change into my pockets all day

Just to keep from floating away

I strap myself into the car seat

And try to keep my feet near the ground

I buy in bulk hoping it will weigh me down

And fill the hole where I used to know I had a soul

But nothing is sacred anymore.

So take me, hold me, pull me down

Make this space we stand on sacred ground

Because there is no center anymore

But I'm still drawn to you

Because there is no ritual anymore

But we still dance around each other

Because there are no altars anymore

But my body still demands sacrifice

Because there is only you and only me

To be holy.

So bite me, bind me, mark me

Make me heavy with your touch

So that I can say I remember the day

You took me beside that factory

And in the shadows knelt before me

And bit my inner thigh

Spilled my blood onto the dirt

And made me holy.

You called them coke bottle glasses
because you found them on the side of the road. I remember

the way your skirt flipped up as you bent down

to pick them up.  It was November,

or some month with winter in it,

but you weren't wearing nylons, I remember that.

You put them on and wriggled your nose, as if testing

for compatability. "Do these glasses make me look smart?"

You asked with a gravity that fit the chill in the air.

I wanted to say no- they make you look

like an old lady deciding between cans of creamed corn

at the grocery store.  They make you look

like the clueless cashier who wears four layers of sweaters

at the dollar store.  They make you look

like the person on the bus who talks to themselves.

They make you look vague and glazed and slightly removed-

But before I could tell you this, you tilted your face up to mine

and looked at me through the smudged lenses of the glasses

you'd just found. It was then, on the side of the road

in the chill of winter ignored, you told me for the first time

I was beautiful.  And I had nothing to say,

Because I'd never seen myself that way.

I remember that.

I think I could bring you ice
and in your presence it would melt
and drip from my hands
leaving them empty.

I think then you might take my hands
and warm them beneath your fingers
your gift so much greater
than mine.

I think then I would cry
tears falling like dripping snow
for I know I can never possess
your warmth,

but your touch still melts my heart.

While you are still sleeping
I bring my lips close enough to yours
to breathe your breath
and call you by my name,

As if calling you thus
could join our souls,

As if calling you thus
would allow me to pour into you,

As if calling you thus
could unchain my sense of myself
and release me to the possibility of us.

I call you by my name
but it tastes foreign to my lips
and you are still sleeping.

You breathe my breath that was your breath
and call my name in your sleep.