The organization of taste

I start a museum
with the seeds you spit -
tamarind is an acquired taste,
I want to tell you.

I want to tell you it took me time,
first to understand it,
then to cherish it,
sourness.

I may have wished
once or twice you were
sweet rather than acrid

before I learned that
all the tastes exist on
all parts of the tongue.

Breathing exercise

He laid on the couch and
fell asleep with his shoes on
while I, sitting on the corner
of the room,
studied his body
under dramatic lighting.

You figure
first and always
among the things I cannot touch,
like the flying man
and the rooftops
on my favorite painting.

I loved and I love you.
Even when you told me not to.
You push me away,
you tell me to leave.
I am stubborn,
I won't listen.

I've been stashing all the thrill
below my fifth rib
for years now,
it makes it hard for me to breathe.
That is why I have and
will always speak my heart.

Awake

In a dream you're so close
all I need is to move my hand
a little in any direction to find your skin.
I whisper your name.
I wake up to it.

In a dream you're so far away,
I don't have my glasses,
I watch someone your shape fade.
I cry out your name,
I wake up to it.

Disaster Preparedness

That the gentle hours
we spend together
they are preparation
for your absence.
That every time you
treat me to silence
you test me for endurance,
it never gets any easier.
This I remember:
your every laughter.
Because of you
my days are better.
This I forget:
that the gentle hours
we spend together
they are preparation
for your absence.

Losing hope

I lie about my scar.
Had I gotten it for being brave
rather than stupid,

had I repeated courage
a thousand times
instead of weakness.

We pretend to
read each other well.
He looks at me

once every six months.
I live a little. Die a little.
Lose words.

I replace pain with silence.
Respond separation
with unconditional love.

But my heart is so tired.

(I am so tired.)