august / time spent between my sheets

i.

i swear to you

her bones were hollow

she had wings

hidden under her shoulder blades

and one morning

just after she opened her eyes

her dream came back for more

"if you cut me open

what do you think you'd find?"

i could not pull

these words from my stomach;

i could not tell her

what was the truth

that i had already found something

inside of her

lips taut and

breath shallow against

summer-dew skin,

we tumbled back

into sleep

ii.

when we awoke in the sea

of my once-white sheets

she smelled like virgin lace and lilacs

and i like cigarettes and pen ink

it was such a crime for me

to be next to her in this way

i cannot forgive

how she looked so yellow

while i was so red

she was the rising sun

and i was nothing more

than a stark brick house

on the wrong side of town-

out of all the parts of me

she could have had

why the hell did she take my heart?