relationship

grove of nasturtiums with trippy effect- photo by Tierney Brannigan

Write Drunk

Poetry

Write drunk
Edit sober.
Foamy words
Churning over.

I am sorry.
It isn’t me:
It’s the chemicals,
It’s the hormones,
It’s my damn body.

Lock the door
Keep me out
Hide the key,
Deserved doubt.

I really am sorry
I know that it’s tough
But I need your soft anger
When I’m feeling real rough.

Go do what you love
You do need that time
To be yourself, to escape
To leap away and to thrive.

I will watch the dog
She had a shit day,
Between going to the vet
And begging us to play.

Forgiveness. Forget-ness.
Love is not hippocampal,
It runs, walks, and falls
It wanders and rambles

I am grateful to have you
Somewhere secret I know
You are not the usual
Bone-headed beau.

I really am sorry
And I’ll try to do better,
For you and for us
For now and forever.

yellow, peach, and red nasturtium with trippy effect- photo by Tierney Brannigan

Unexpectedly Familiar

Poetry

You want to hurt him
Just because you can.
It’s nice to feel powerful
In love.

You feel tethered to the ground
When you hold his hand.
Resenting the feeling of a grasp,
Heart hinged on a flesh clasp.

It hurts when he kisses you
Because he presses too hard,
Like he is pinching himself
Awake.

Between the layers of uncertain acceptance,
Dismissal.
Whiskers and eyelashes,
Cheeks and nose bridges.

The number of times
I have looked up at your face
And the light catches each feature
Unexpectedly familiar—normally different.

fuchsia and yellow lantana with trippy effect- photo by Tierney Brannigan

Ear to Ear

Poetry

It’s truly been a while, my dear
Since we saw each other, ear-to-ear
Talking has grown into a chore
Conversations are gray, a sad drudgy bore.

Where did it go?
Was it even there?
Hard to know
When lust keeps you unaware.

Listen- – -Listen! to me
I’ve been screaming for us
Ever since year three

Things really aren’t the same
Like the smell right before the rain
I can tell something new is on the way
Like a budding’ flower waiting on life’s decay

Where will we grow?
Are we even here?
So hard to know
When you’re in your 7th year.