The Writer's Bloc

Once we’re done and the sky is shattered with mosaics
of black feathers, and the mosquitoes have pierced tightened,
skinny inklings of the ‘i love you’ we left on the backs of napkins and 
buried inside the neck rest of a stranger’s seat on an
airplane to Haiti. Once the languages  merge together
and the light from the greek remains and the chinese gardens turn on at the same time. once our passports are stamped full and the glass
windows have been pressed against and our coffee mugs have been
marked with my lipstick and once I kiss you goodbye to the tune
of old music and hello to the tune of new books.
once the pirates have met their match and the sea has met us,
will we be worthy of once upon a time?

have you ever touched forever?
I can feel it on her lips. lacing, cu
                                                   r
                                             ving,
                                  hollowing
                           itself              from
                   the inside              out to  
                         secure             uncertainty
                                and carefully           
                              prepare for the 
                                  unknown
                                       that
                                       drip’
                                         s
                                         s
                                         s
                        from the crevices of every
                         earthly embodiment;
                     anything that could ever 
                             fall away from me.
and I know that gripping something
tighter isn’t going to latch it to my
chest but still I wave off goodbye,
try to lick it out of a
star fire kiss, 
but a few moments of this distraction

                                        don’t
                                         blur
                                         out
                                         the
          bigger picture. 

i’ve taken these macabre clothes
and torn their white hems
to the floor,

in doing so I exposed myself,
you saw my scars, 
my vodka riddled veins

that was the night constellations fell-
it was your job to watch them
and hold them tight
to the skies

and you know my mom always told me
“do not play with that boy’s heart,
do not look at him like he hangs 
the stars in the sky”

but you did. you did hang the stars
in the sky but she didn’t know that
so I made you kiss me and drink me 
in until your drunken hands collapsed

the stars to hold my ribs, and I
just kept kissing you until i could 
look at you like you didn’t hang them

because that’s what my mama
always taught me.