not now, not ever

leave it be.

faded photograph of him

found in the plastic bin.

my fingers trace over his outline.

how many years ago?

he called my name

over the landline corded phone.

I heard the best

and worst of him,


palm flat

held myself for his taking.

in these old photographs

I see my offering,

my vulnerability,

his insecurities,

our ending.

leave it be.



it’s funny

I often laugh to myself

thinking of you

thinking of me

as unknowing


to you

who you are

as if you’ve covered me

in some story you contrived

out of twigs

made a house of bricks

but I see the sticks

I know your tricks

blindfolded my eyes

turned me round

circled in spin

and set loose

you didn’t consider

I don’t use my eyes to see

nor my head to lead

why else were we given intuition?

and I laugh

at the thought of you

thinking of me

eating what I’m fed


Here we stand.

Right at the doorstep of infinite.

My right hand holds

your left hand and

we both stare at the old garden door.

Peeling paint and rusty hinges

remind us that forever comes

by withstanding the elements –

eroding our appearance and

raining on our panes

until we no longer resemble

how we look today.

Sparkle fades,

hardware tarnishes,

paint chips,

and windows dirty.

No longer mint condition

also means


lived out of the box.

It was when we began to see,

to feel,

lure in once loved things and

desire past needing shiny,

Attracted to life lived,

more than dewy glow,

in realizing the vintage

the antique, the weathered

hold the stories.

It was then that we finally could see

where beauty truly lies

and step through the doorway