the summer sun is excruciatingly hot
sweat drips down my skin through
coarse pores and it isn’t even 10am
you told me to wait up for you last night and
like the goddamn fool i am, i sat here like a stone until
i woke up on the roof, covered in the remnants of the
citronella candle the wind blew over.
i smell like lemon. my throat is lined with sand. i burn. i ache.
the worst part of this is
i am still waiting for you.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “History Repeats Itself Until The Chemistry Doesn’t.”
your hands can hurt and
hold; sometimes they do both at
the same time, with love.
3AM Thoughts // “Haiku 56.”
I wonder if when
She birthed your child
She thought twice about
Giving him your name
I wonder if she hopes
Her son grows up
To love women with
The respect that his father
3AM Thoughts // AKA “I Should Have Told Her – She Should Have Known.”
Can you take the pain and go somewhere?
Can you make it a journey?
The Chronology of Water: A Memoir // Lidia Yuknavitch
I find answers to
Unholy questions in the
Deep curves of your hips
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Haiku 38.”
in my barbaric tongue
flowers are called flowers
and about air I say air
and stepping on the pavement bricks
with my heels I tap in
brick brick brick
and I say stone so softly
as if stone were velvet
and I bury my face in your neck
as if a cat’s warm fur grew there
and I love
my barbaric tongue
and say: I love
In My Barbaric Tongue // Halina Poswiatowska
First you managed to
Confidence, thrust a
Knife into the softer parts
For fun, it was a
At first but now I am filled with
Rapturous glee as you are
Lost in the shuffle
Overwhelmed by the
Stench of regret.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Left Behind, Reading Between the Lines.”
Overflowing with the desire
To be loved by me,
Devoured by callous and intangible
Call me when you are
Tired of romanticizing
Your own suffering
3AM Thoughts // AKA “You Used to Be a Good Time.”
Feeling then your warmth beside me
Little body, thigh and knee
In these arms, I thought, I’ll hide me
Here’s where they can bury me.
Sentimental Song No. 78 // Bertolt Brecht
I slept with him and stole
His photos – he saw them reproduced and
Blamed me for
Appropriating his intellect, claimed
I had stolen his essence; scorned me for being
Devoid of ethics.
I sent him a reply months later by post
Asking him why he abhorred my actions of
Deceit when he had so adored the
Same insidiousness between sheets.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “The Hypocrisy of Men.”