Sometimes I lie
Okay, a lot of times I lie. That story my mom told me about the salt coffee, people liked that. I tell them it was me. That time at the park, I don’t tell them I told you to stop. Sometimes things I still hope to do, I say I’ve already done as motivation. Make it true. Things I know will never be true, I say anyway…make it true. Make it true.
Because my truth is too safe
Because my truth is too true
Because I know it too well and I need something new
Because I like your stories
Because I want you to test me
Because I like getting away with it
Because I like getting caught
Because I need the attention
Because I hate getting away with it
Tell me when I’m wrong
If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be hearing this

The clock stopped working yesterday
We bought a new one
Well, I brought mine from the old house
The one that burned down.
it ticks and tocks.
Does the job mostly
Though, sometimes
When I’m making toast I hear the clock hold its breath and stop thinking
Once while I was in the bath I heard it whisper something about the paint on the walls
Those precious moments, when time decides to stop,
I hope for them all the time
Mostly in vain
give me peace
No one believes me
When guests are over my…our clock..
ticks merrily without interruption
It’s thoughts do not stutter upon their own arrivals like mine

The street there, the one we walked hand in hand through, the one in the city. If he is a scaly serpent, scarred and tired from the weight of bus riding souls, think how lucky we are to have survived. Unforgiving pavement reminding you how cold the air is, the street sighs an exasperated breath as we trudge down toward the flickering light. I kiss you there, eyes closed, hands clasped tight.

When our eyes unwillingly yawn open, a warm breeze passes over our cheeks. The stretching grass strokes your leg and beckons forward. This road sings a whistle in place of street’s groan.

I don’t feel the need to squeeze so tight here & I can’t tell if I miss the certainty of where the yellow lines lead.

I thought I saw your wrists today
In a crowd full of people reaching for my hand
None of their fingers seemed to know how to change my direction
They said the wrong things and yelled when they should have been silent
Your strong hands though
Gave the best advice, and in whispers
To be sure I leaned in
You let go before I reached the end
I’m left now, with a prayer my palms stole something from the kindness in your grip


I wonder sometimes if it is normal to be this good at forgetting.

My past is a fleck of dust caught for a moment in the yellow glow that crisscrosses my living room floor. It is the spider dangling halfway between my ceiling and bathroom tile. It exists, though I choose to ignore it, and to make it go away all I have to do is turn off the light. Somewhere in the space between then and now, suspended in the primordial goo of the universe, webbed in the simultaneous being and unbeing of time, there are naked photos of me. 

They exist and yet somehow they do not. It is as though there is a vacuum between the past and the present and those photos float weightlessly within it. Maybe one day this space will cease to exist. Until then there are no photos. 

I search within my navel for lint and run my fingers through the fine hairs on my torso. You are so close our breath is almost a living thing. And yet the distance between us stretches for miles and miles and neither of us wants to be the one to take the first step for fear we might end up alone in the middle of an empty nowhere. I look at you finally and the gravity of it all nearly brings me to my knees.

Somewhere in the space between then and now are a hundred things I hope you never know. Somewhere in the space between us are a hundred things I can never say. 

One of my favorites.

151 notes

RIchard Siken and Marianne Dissard


I wish you were here. How I miss you so. I “think” you would be here if you really wanted. It hurts to think that.

Our last kiss is haunting my mind. It felt so real and so alive. I felt your intense desire for me even though you held yourself back. I was so sure I would see you again, but as…

Man oh man.

35 notes

I was in a rush until I met you.
Now I want to make my life a Sunday morning.
Yawn slow, stretch my arms wide
Snooze the alarm
Turn the phones off, they don’t matter.
Tangled up in blankets and you.
A cup of coffee while I read you Bukowski
The one about the barstool again
Yeah, I like that one too
I’m not sure why I was in such a hurry
I guess I never wanted to
Simply lay on the floor with someone
I could stare at the ceiling with you for hours
And never be bored
Count the specks to me
I love the way you say “four”
Hell, we could sit here in silence
Just don’t hurry
I know Monday is coming
It will be here
I know I say it even if you’re just leaving the bed
But I really do miss you already.

1 note

Could anyone have said it better?