this (every) night.

it could be the chardonnay, you know,
glowing it's piss pale yellow through fingerprinted glass
causing me to roll over in the sheets now
hours later, my head pounding.
i turn the tv on and the picture jumps
but the volume is too loud in this silent house.
click back to darkness, the kind so black
you can't see your hand right in front of your face.
it's three-thiry in the morning and
i can't help but think, goddamn, not this again.

between you + i.

precious orbs of perfection
tiny worlds without chips
consistent clicking
a game of innocence
3000 years in the making
keepers or friendlies
i suppose it's your choice.

changing season.

the air has turned cold suddenly
and summer is falling
i shiver in the wind
as i sit watching you,
looking down
when you look up.
occassionally, i catch your eyes
and i hold them, if i'm brave enough,
trying to read you reading me.
there is something in them
that i trust, your warm, caring eyes
look concerned, but hopeful.
and maybe because you see me-
you really see me,
i'm starting to believe.

over + over.

in my dream
i saw it happening
over and over again.

i stood
at the white, pedestal sink
letting it turn red.

in the doorway
you stood
asking why.

i tried to answer
but the words
escaped me.

and everything was silent.

seven.

he screams at me
"open the goddamn door right now!"
but i only back away further.
i count
"four, five, six, seven" tiles
seven clean, white tiles
the same as the number of years i've lived.
his fists, as large as my head, pound
so hard that the doorknob rattles, and
i can't help but think
if the door breaks
the evil will come in.