her

her lips--the upper a half crescent,
the lower the seashore, the lower the bay
and the in between--gods, the in between!
a place sailors pray themselves to
get lost in.

i have been inside her head and
her laugh is a dimension i know so well
the last time i saw her cry from happiness
was today. and the last time i saw her cry from
sadness, she was sitting on her bathroom toilet.
she shoved me out of the way to escape me; i think
i can still see the bruise the door frame left (but
we don't talk about the sour taste pain leaves in
our mouth; we simply grab our teeth, say thank you
and move along)

when we were younger, we promised
to run away together. the baseball park bathroom
was our retreat. jolly ranchers did not satiate our
hunger, however, and her mom found our bikes anyways.
we were crying as we rode back home. we were
twenty percent children, eighty percent fear;
we both wished to grow up and grow wings.
we grew up and grew long limbs instead.

i wanted to get my hands on her,
get my claws on her, my paws on her,
and brush her hair. i wanted to tell her
how beautiful she was, and make her believe it
and if you ask me if it's love, i will tell you
no. because we are friends and because she could do
so much better than me; so much better than this
burnt out scene.

i wanted to rip off my arms and
toss them to her and say: "here, use these
to fly." if it was possible, i would make
the sacrifice. and soon after, i would
give my legs to my other friend and say:
"here, use these to run." and as a last
request, i would say: "please, point
that gun." the words would just
roll off of my tongue.