a poetic guide to long distance relationships

(Listen to the song above as you read)

Gone, but hopeful

The memory of your touch

Echoes through my body with every other pump of blood.

Rushing to elbows, fingertips, soft hips, sprained ankles, earlobes, eyelids

Lips plump from the shapes they take.

"Pete, sweet boy, Pete."

Sending it to:

reflections, marking the change in me.

friends across coffee tables, mothering me with hope.

God, when hysteric.

And for you, to remember again.

Label

It was a slip-at a small gathering of six-

the result of a little too much wine-

not enough time

the scrutiny of several sets of eyes and ears pressed against me-mouths spitting questions;

"what?" "who?" "you?"

Last night, I called you my boyfriend.

And everyone was pleased

at ease

except for me.

My tongue, hard at work, trying to remove the bits of b-o-y stuck between teeth and the bitterness of friend still lingering in my mouth because boyfriends take you to dinner, take clammy hands, take virginities, take secrets to back pockets, take love too seriously, so the only thing left for a girlfriend to take is an old t-shirt, someday a last name.

I don't know where he is, if he ever existed but

you are not my boyfriend.

I don't know what you are,

I don't know,

but I'm sorry for calling you that.

Saint Sebastian is for us

We fell in love in front of him, your hand

on my waist, prepping my flesh for similar piercings.

Not knowing they would hit all at once

around the corner from your flat that morning.

Now I am fragile.

Arrows sink deep into my softness at night.

Sink deeper.

Let them see what I carry and know

This is bliss.

Flesh

Push, slip

Fingerprint coated gallery

Ceaseless

Finding a new favorite

Every-time

wishes for my Irishman

Someday you'll have an island in your kitchen and a woman in your bed.

You might make me that woman.

If I'm not;

She'll know what comes after 'I wonder why a little'

And sing it with you just before you sleep.

When you dream, she'll meet you at the dark fold of your eyelid-your keeper.

You will never be an island, love.

For even if I go, and there are several shes after me, I will not be the woman in your bed,

I will be the pillow you rest your head on.

This is just to say

I read your
texts
while you showered
this morning.

Scrolling
hoping not to
find -
sorry.

Your mother seems
to need to
know
it all.

Why we stay together

we smile,

sob,

cannot explain the one thing we are certain of.

On maintaining a long distance relationship in the twenty-first century

I couldn't sleep last night.

My cold is starting to go away.

(your life my life in an e-mail)

I haven't gotten it, yet.

I have a busy day tomorrow.

(your life my life in an e-mail)

How's the family?

Still nothing, it's been a week today.

(your life my life in an e-mail)

I'm here, you know that.

My phone dies.

(your life my life in an e-mail)