7.26.22
LEECH
keep your fucking filthy sausages away from my garden – you hoarder, you glutton, you reptile, you scratch your lint-lidden greased-cheezits sud of a belly button. Swallow back your halitosis tantrums, you disdainful self-indulgent sadistic shit-stain. Slither back to whichever white “equitable” hell you came from. Eden’s not for the likes of you.

You are not welcome here.

And try keeping better track of your own cock next time.

12.11.2021

JAGUAR
air-pockets are what separates the successful from the unsuccessful
the happy from the unhappy
and so on
air-pockets as in “where things should be”

but that’s the thing
they aren’t
they’re too busy belly-dancing with for happenstance
playing parcheesi with our grandparents
painting themselves with our spice cabinet
they’re texturing our scar tissue, our incoming wrinkles, our sore muscles and graying hair
they’re the paper on which we wrote our story
the footnote, and the ink.

air-pockets, on the other hand
are here to make sure we keep on living
to oxygenate
replace yesterdays red cells with today’s blood
it’s as inevitable as our history

our only part here is choice
to choke
or breath

JAGUAR

5.25.21
I would like to borrow the beam of awe and shine it in your direction so that it always feels like you are the center stage of your life.

JAGUAR
3.5.21

Good or bad, ugly or pretty, to me, you’re gold.
In this way, maybe I’m Midas.

Or maybe you’re Icarus.

11.27.20

JAGUAR
tastes like passionflower
the dimlight walkway you never looked for
but traced the sweetest path forward

we see what we want to see
from the windows we sit in front of

but you’ve opened doorways
out of the in-between
with suit jackets, poems, and cityscapes
onto something better
more whole

when loss stops feeling empty;
now, it mirrors your heartbeat
it says “nothing is as it was.”
and we nod

knowing we’ve got trails, and paths, and walkways left unexplored
but, maybe for the first time, we learn
bridges don’t mean exit rows
the city at night looks enough like our stars
i chart them in my bloodstream
paint them olive juice and swoon

11.23.20

JAGUAR
“I can’t wait to show you how I see you over time.”

or,
I can’t wait to prove to myself, finally
the chisel marks you carve on your jawline
will not affect how I see your smile

for as long as I am able
I’ll help clean up the rubble
when your mind-tantrums earthquake your temple

I’ll continue to bless it holy
bring prayer and offering

because we all need to be told we are worth castles
and we all need to know
even restless hands can hold

I wish the goodness of my intentions,
the proof of my actions
took up as much space,
held as much weight
as the walls your heart constructs
with the indiscretion of your insecurities

JAGUAR

11.11.20
continuously surprised

small sweetnesses, smelling of warm skin and morning
they wrap its skin around mine, sunshine kissing the body in crisp, like the sleep in our eyes
it’s the little things;

a lion disguised as lamb, not for its benefit — he doesn’t need to bear teeth for me to
show my nape
coffee cups and combinations of chocolate and berry
I say “read me one more paragraph”
but what i mean is, “thank you, I know you’re tired.”

because does it really count to show gratitude
when i receive these kindnesses with open palms

it’s easier to let go that way

i think you know
my fear of holding surrenders slowly
you can tell by the way bodies melt
hand looking for another to hold
how for just a moment, there is only you, me, and whatever
third half awake half asleep dimention

we’re nearing equinox
fall is just for these types of things
no one knows if winter will be animus or anima this year

JAGUAR

11.8.20
This week, I’ve had more practice thanking my skeleton.

It lets my fingertips feel for the collective pulse, yours, hers, my own.

It holds my eyes in their socket (did you know even scarecrows were skinned back in the middle ages?) keeping them open to sniff out the next heartbeat.

So no, I’m not seeing red.

I will however, hold your flag at half mast — rejoicing (or mourning?) the sweetness with a little more salt.

Some would argue there’s flavor in that.

Others claim corrupted purity.

JAGUAR

10.31.20
Dia De Los Muertos,
This house is haunted and now you know that first hand. Ghosts leave ugly messes here. The type that wake you up with ice-cubes in your belly. No amount of blankets can cover up that chill.

I’m sorry. Truly. I could ramble off excuses about miscalculations and bad timing, but we both know there was intention in flirting with madness. What surprised us all, I think, is when madness started flirting back.

Know what though? I don’t believe there’s a thing we’ve seen we have not first felt. You knew this the moment you could no longer discern adrenaline from oxytocin, fate thinks herself a comedian that way and we’ve both been had on this one. It’s a good thing we have a sense of humor.

So fuck the monsters under the bed, and fuck me too while you’re at it. Let the sounds of our laughter and moans be the sage that smokes out beasts from their hiding places. There’s no music dancing with the dead.

JAGUAR

10.21.20
once again, i lost everything i wanted to say in the things i kept secret.
i wonder what it feels like,
when i play at great dodge
another question you don’t ask
is just another blank canvas

for who’s benefit?

not sure who’s holding onto daydreams anymore
when i hand you my wrists
we buckle yours down
that unspoken agreement that knows
chains
are just my eyes looking for an exit row

i think you know what hides in my sheets
caught in the scene with the weapon
who gets away with murder when
they wash their linen because you see
no you don’t
the things you love
are still the shames old heartaches
taught me to hate