august / time spent between my sheets
i.
i swear to you
her bones were hollow
she had wings
hidden under her shoulder blades
and one morning
just after she opened her eyes
her dream came back for more
"if you cut me open
what do you think you'd find?"
i could not pull
these words from my stomach;
i could not tell her
what was the truth
that i had already found something
inside of her
lips taut and
breath shallow against
summer-dew skin,
we tumbled back
into sleep
ii.
when we awoke in the sea
of my once-white sheets
she smelled like virgin lace and lilacs
and i like cigarettes and pen ink
it was such a crime for me
to be next to her in this way
i cannot forgive
how she looked so yellow
while i was so red
she was the rising sun
and i was nothing more
than a stark brick house
on the wrong side of town-
out of all the parts of me
she could have had
why the hell did she take my heart?