This is teeth and this is tongue
irreparable damage to something
just nearly
un/begun
nothing sacred
in the way we gain
it's a fruitless sort of (end)eavor
leaving only
the day's remains
and I've become
scattered to out of the farthest reaches of what
your eyes ayes (pro)missed me
an ocean's worth of tidal intentions
in the briefest of tactile
intimacies
and I cannot help but wonder
what you took from saw beneath my skin
when you sunk yourself so deeply
in the poetry of
lip and limb
and I couldn't help but notice
that you seemed to want
my saving (saying) grace
the way your fingers move reverently
as though to memorize my face
and I shouldn't keep remembering
the way you said I was
well-come any time
because now I'm just the ghost
of your inelegant negligent sort of crime.

08/23/2008