Spelunking

Spelunking

for J

This whole city

is big enough for us to walk

until I’ve got blood

in my shoes,

and empty pockets.

We map these streets

with stitches

connecting places we go in

step, in hand.

We wade together

through this swamp-wet air

holding on so we won’t

get lost.

We bring home peaches

and second-hand jeans

and we sweat under cover

in dark private places.

Your eyes run black

with love-smudged mascara

and we sleep just barely

touching.

Her Majesty

I wrote this a few weeks ago. One of the few things I've written recently that has not been heartbroken and melodramatic.

Her Majesty

Swans are vicious creatures

she says and there’s blood

under her over-long fingernails

in little brown crescents.

You write them like

they’re beautiful but

you know you’re not supposed to feed them.

She sits

with her back arched away

from the chair

and her neck white.

I can’t say

swans are sometimes royalty,

that in London parks

they belong to the Queen.

The only majesty in this room

is hers and so I say

Because they mate for life.