Goodbye, Goodnight

I love,
      like a heavy sun-rain,


a woman with scars
              like light through
         my blinds in the morning
             falling across
               the stillness of her 
                                   naked legs,
 casting shadows
            that make me hungry


and
     ache to love her 
        in a field absent of anything
                       but us and moon or
                                         sun
                                      or fire.


   Her eyes float like stars stolen
          from Van Gogh and
     her hands have scars
        like his nights,
                  which I still kiss
                          when I can.


     She has a secret scar,
                 too,
that I used to kiss.


I would brush my lips against
                             it,
then press a promise in,
     a different one every time,
                  but it seems I've broken
                                               most.


Once promised to swear
     by the taste of it,
        thin and white,
every day,


now I grind sand
   between my teeth by
     the long days
     that are not that first, fleeting
                hour of light
                 when the morning creeps in
  and lies next to me,
               warming the pillow
              I leave standing
              in remembrance
        of scars and shadows
                     I forgot to kiss
                                goodbye,
               goodnight.

Laura

     I dreamt it was winter
and you were a wind.

         your feet
and the palms of your hands
     were iced of blood,
   scarred and thin,
       so you buried your fingers
in the fur of my beard
     and warmed your cool
            wet lips
   against  my
desert dweller's tongue.

My bed was freezing over,
     so you climbed in after me
and for the first time
       I slept,
     and then you brought
                 the morning ,
and your eyes sang to the birds.

My heart slowed and yours sped
and we met in the spring,
   and the blackbirds stole
our hair from the pillow

to warm their blue eggs,
                 as freckled as your nose
       or my eyes.

   I dreamt of a fox with sad eyes,
           and a smirking cat.

I dreamt of a wolf and a lioness
           at once,

and so many times
      I met you
        in the morning.