a literal metaphor

You were in my subconsciousness
deep as a fault line,
and with your absence comes a trembling
as the tectonic plates of what I know to be true
slide together uncomfortably
and set my whole mind shaking.

There's been an earthquake in my head
and it looks like the buildings are still standing
but everything's been structurally damaged--
there is no water running, no electricity,
nothing left to connect these disparate broken thoughts,
and the gas lines have all burst,
leaving some of them quite flammable to the smallest spark.

All these beautiful historic buildings,
all the architecture built in place on a foundation of love,
all the open windows looking into trashed rooms,
all the sturdy doorways opening onto rubble,
it'll all have to come down now,
razed to the ground once the aftershocks die down.

The tremors are still happening, though.
I can't do anything to rebuild until the ground quiets.
Perhaps the tectonic plates will settle
without the buffer you made between the jagged edges.
Fault lines don't just disappear,
but if I'm lucky this one will lie quiescent for the rest of my days.

They say you can't love anyone if you don't love yourself.
I stared long and hard into the mirror's surface
and eventually I started to accept the flaws I never
thought of as lovable before I had learned to stand
on my own two feet, even if I could only stand for an hour.
I found myself in a field lit only by stars,

found the single one I would call my star,
found my star every time I couldn't love myself,
coming back night after night to the field that was ours.
I walked by the water and saw myself below the surface,
walked on the ice to make a stand
against this frozen side of me that could never

thaw enough to feel the warmth of flame, never
find the spot of sky that holds my star,
never reach out far enough to take his hand.
If I wanted him, first I had to love myself,
so I pulled my frozen side through the surface
of the ice, held her in my arms for hours,

told her my history, hers, ours,
and slowly melted the ice that had bound her forever.
It felt like holding my breath under the surface
of the shining sea of light, witnessed by my star,
becoming one with this newly loved part of myself,
feeling the chill as my hand touched her hand

and overlapped, as we united, and
it took a year, or maybe an hour,
but at the end I loved my entire self
with a frantic single-mindedness I never
should have turned upon another, but like my star,
he'd been my constant reminder of why I had to look beyond the surface

of my teary eyes, delve beneath the surface
of my shallow thoughts. He was why I loved myself,
and how should I not have loved my lucky star?
I brought him to the dark field I considered ours
and showed him where I'd looked for comfort, ever
finding his brightness to turn me back to myself.

He never had trouble seeing past my surface,
but never saw me as a shining star,
and never told me how he saw himself, for all we talked for hours.

I don't have to put it in words again.
I spelled it out quite clearly the first time:
I love you more than I know how to bear,
and perhaps I can't-- not gracefully, at least.
How many times did I resort to tears?
(But never in your presence, oh no,
I did my hardest work trying not to manipulate you.)
How many times did I lie awake all night,
failing to put thoughts of you from my mind?
How many times did my opinion of myself fall,
thinking that I should be stronger,
that I should be able to content myself with platonic love?

I wish I'd known this word a year ago,
wish I'd known I could put a name to my feelings.
Would it have helped me to see it defined--
intrusive thinking, need for reciprocation,
fear of rejection paired with hope--
or would it have made no difference at all?

I'll never know, having resolved it before naming it.
I'll never know, and never need to know,
now that you've given me what I needed so badly,
now that you've dispelled my fears.
I'm limerent no longer-- I've become beloved,
and now, perhaps, I'll find I can be graceful,
bearing up under the (much-lightened) burden of love.

summer day
eating ripe cherries
and thinking about your full lower lip

You disarm me.
For you, I'll bare my throat.
For you, I'll submit.
For you, I'll show my vulnerabilities
and beg you to take advantage of them
shivering under your fingertips when you do.
For you and no one else
I will lay down in your arms
and close my eyes, and sleep.

My body isn't traitorous enough
to be uncomfortable when yours
is resting on it.
I can (and have) been
your pillow for hours on end
without a single nerve cell
falling asleep.
How could I waste
a moment of contact
when I count every embrace
as dear as I do?
No, I stay aware,
pacing my breath to yours,
trying to memorize this feeling
of sweet contentment.

At last, I've been deconstructed,
every part scrutinized with a jeweler's loupe,
then put back together by careful hands
painstakingly, fixing the worn-down places,
replacing the broken-toothed cogs
and the cloudy piece of quartz that kept me running.
I've been upgraded-- now my heart's a diamond
refracting rainbows in the spotlight of love.
Take me in your hands and hold me up to the sun
to see the sparkle of affection light me up.
I've been reset-- keeping perfect time
to the measured beat of your racing heart.
Wear me in your pocket, take me out at intervals
and check my unerring tally of the minutes I've been yours.

I can't be honest with you
looking into your eyes,
which isn't to say that I lie
because I never lie to you--
except for when you ask
"what are you laughing about?"
but the words I can't speak to you--
that's the source of my poetry.

One day, my beloved muse,
one day soon I will hand you my poems
and you will understand
why I laugh,
you will know the truth
of why I smile when I see you.

One day when your golden hair's gone grey
you will take my chapbook from the shelf
and remember the woman
who laughed out loud
and honestly loved
every terrible pun you told,
every wry twist of your lips,
every time I couldn't tell you something

and poured out poetry instead.

close your eyes, dear one
let me quiet your mind
lay your fears to rest
talk you through the dark hours
convince you you're all right

whisper legends in your ear
catch your favorite constellation
and hang it from your ceiling

to watch over you while you sleep

I cling to sobriety like a last resort
rather than a first line of defense.

Intoxication has failed me once again,
wine tying my tongue into knots instead of loosening it,
weed dragging me down rather than getting me high.

I'm swearing off the lot of it.
I'm pouring liquor down the drain by the bottle,
I'm throwing baggies onto bonfires and walking away.

Only one thing works any more.
I'm strung out after one hit, trembling for want of it,
shaky like a junkie just remembering that trip.

Just put your arms around me and let me feel your warmth.

Kiss my lips once more and send my head spinning through the stars.