contemplation on time

  in the afternoons when the day sits still and frightening i think of our house, that existed like a flower or a brook that everything passes by  but still exists for those who pass coins in a pocket with no purpose but to sit  to allow life and wonder. rings of ash and smoke over the house like a crown  collecting fallen soldiers, laying in your arms after battle like a flame, love purifies as it destroys and spreads wild. we hold hands mumble words and watch.  you brought me back to a home carefully hidden from me, where i once was without you and writing poems, a house in the eye of the storm a clearing, a sweet kiss and bruise, my heart split into two and you were the whole. a city has so many houses without us inside, houses are also something more

I want to write of a bruise            a dark red sky on the neck  I love leaving my breath on your skin and               hanging on your ear my silence Blood curdles as I separate, secrets whisper their shame  in the lighter corners The days that never were become rain  and words are soldiers fallen after a long war You are winged, always finding a window  Over an absence on my skin you leave an offering darkened with love What we create in love is damage, what creates us Your neck still calls out to me a clearing between the trees I returned home and gave you a bruise  that tasted sweet, to fall asleep next to