i remember Austin
the bridge, the dirt
the layers of youth
you peeled from my arms
like bandages
the water below
it knew me well
all my secrets
your voice
my desire
in a hospital bed
we moved on each other
so many, many
quiet hours
i said
“i’m not even
fifteen”
your reply:
it would not take you
fifteen minutes
to wake me
from this
i let you
but found
your dream
to be
insurmountable
even though the
sex
was a first
and timeless
“I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever.”
-Rabindranath Tagore
—
oh
how your voice
small and scared
reminded me of her
curled up on the floor
with a monster
waiting
right outside the door
i was
all bravado
and child parts then
unable to protect her
from him
watching helplessly
as she rose
with all the things i loved
discarded on the ground
the joy and the hope
in its death throes
subdued forever
beneath her bare feet
so you should be told
that this sickness may be
written on my bones
sparked in my joints
triggered
by this
the thought of you
standing up
with only
half of yourself
left
and perhaps this disorder
is where it starts
perhaps we are
as lovers
born
from this filth
the roots of our illness
penetrating
the purest soil
as we
febrile and scarred
run from our past
only to find ourselves
lost
in its familiarity
we produce the most beauty
in the darkest corners
of our lives
i wanted to hold you
for this reason
and give you
a kiss, to summon strength
an embrace, to keep you together
and these words:
your heart
is not the disease
it’s the cure
