Harmony In The Key Of Coffee

The soul of the asylum is the one giving out the meds. I listened to you talk for hours but I don’t remember anything you said. Your lips distracted me. My mind distracted me. The safe word is ‘continue.’

We went for coffee, but we accidentally grabbed the same cup. I let go and enjoyed myself. You held on and filled up. Shocking, I know. What was the meaning of this? What was the gist? I’d probably do it again if you really wanted it.

You asked me nicely with your wandering hands, and I couldn’t refuse in the state I was in. I thought I might be staying inside your arms, but the grass is always greener the next morning. My head hurts and I’m sleepy.

Something for this headache, something for this heartache, sometimes the cure for one is the cause of the other.


Tides Tied Up

You flow in and out
Like waves on the beach
Violently calm
Shaking, I relax
Your waves erase my messages
Lovingly drawn in the sand
Leaving nothing but smooth silence
Dreams crashing at my feet


She Opened All My Doors

I fell like snowflakes onto her tongue
I felt swallowed and safe
My signal was on
But I could never turn away from her
Eyes that make me apologize
Lips that make me want to do nothing I have to apologize for
Curves and smiles I trace, first with my eyes
Then with my fingertips
The music playing in the background
Our hearts beating in time
Our breath coming faster
We ran down the hallways of her soul
Looking for a place we could live
For a moment, or a lifetime
Or a lifetime of moments


Unintended Consequences

I stood there pounding on the door, yelling for her to let me in. She never came. I took off my sock, wrapped it around my hand and punched the glass, breaking it. I reached in and unlocked the door.

I stepped in, hearing the crunch of broken glass on the floor. I took off my shoes and quickly swept up the glass. I would take care of the door tomorrow.

I screamed for her again, but still no answer. I walked to the back, staring daggers at the bed, and went to the bathroom. There was a letter on the vanity. An open bottle of pills.

Her first love, the man she kept talking about when anything romantic came up, had been found dead in his apartment. Overdose.

I went to the bed and touched her forehead. Cold. Her body was also cold. I sat down, crying. Sobbing to myself. Wailing outwardly…

How could she do this? What was it about him? How could she have still been interested in him this whole time? Still be talking to him? Still carry a torch for him?

I thought with him gone, she’d turn to me. I was wrong.