luxury
is skin-to-skin contact
my shirt, resting safely against your sweatshirt
eating coconut whipped cream straight from the can
luxury is you holding me the way the ocean
holds the smallest waves
can I be soft, not strong?
citronmåne
the moon was such a little sliver tonight
and it made me feel better
because I too, felt small
glowing a little is actually glowing a lot
said the moon
as she shined on my face and I stood in the sunset
the dewy orange light settled on my eyelids
and I opened my eyes — ˘˘ ‹› ‹›
citronmåne - danish lemon moon cake
her name was wavy, like the water
coves are protected
but I found this cove
and you carried me there
and I carried you there
luxury is me cooking pancakes for you
we fell asleep in a warm tent with syrup lingering in the air
under a small maple tree with the tangerine sun setting
and the tide going out
like drinking spring water.
I’ve discovered that the small amount of cool mountain air between our faces
shrinks as I lean in to kiss your forehead
and this lack of distance
is life itself
petals fall slowly
At
sixteen, I left a fruitless orchard
for a spiritual cloud closer to the
sun.
We were young then;
kissing under the stars,
flying down hills covered
in dandelions.
Hot pink petals falling softly
as we kissed in plaid steamy dimness
that belonged to us.
Stuffing friends in car trunks,
clothes flying off at yellow lights,
wet hair dusting almond sheets —
but collisions of
flight
forced
me
to fall
slowly —
like a frisbee trapped in
wind.
My heart is still the one that cracked in high school.
When did our souls forget
that we need the embrace
of another human to be okay?
That scars are permanent?
This poem was originally written in 2017.
A hill to live on
The tide has been going out,
and a second tear rolls down my cheek.
I roll onto my left side to look over at you.
What is this vibe you’ve created?
I am used to winter sunrises,
not summer sunsets.
It feels different without the ice.
You open your eyes, turning to look at me.
I want to hold you, is that okay?
I inch closer, and you wrap your arms around me.
And I fall asleep like we are at home,
and you are still here.
sunglass
I’m trying to search for
a pair of sunglasses at the Hotel Café
you round the corner and are wearing them
we stop time and I…
I’m fine
it’s not your problem
it’s not your problem
it’s not your problem
I don’t make eye contact
closing my eyes,
I rock back and forth
opening my eyes, I stare into
the ice cubes of my water glass
What problem you say
I rub my face
and you pull me in
holding me close
on the tree canopy bench
under lantern
light
my feet in dirty
sneakers
hug the ground
empty
empty luxury
hot chocolate and snow
maple syrup on pancakes
winding country roads with no sidewalks
no place to walk
religiously avoiding the neighbors
American flags on Indigenous land
Back the Blue signs surround me
bell
if you hit a bell with an eraser
it makes no sound
it erases the sound
the feelings I feel can erase
what I see in the mirror
it’s not hard
mountains
i looked over,
and saw mountains. mountains I hadn’t seen before;
places that didn’t exist. i have never seen those mountains
before — even though I’ve looked in that direction a thousand times,
from only a block away. i don’t want to forget the feelings of home i find in you.
I choose every battle
I want
your hand curled into mine
under the dinner table
with bread and candles
but only if you want this, if we can learn to choose between trust and fear
because my past self tells me that
this altar is too sacred
to be ruined