This bed is a ship

This bed is a ship is a sporadically updated internet journal, 
a home for odd scraps of writing.

Moving through the ache of all this diaried time, all the yous of all my youthful romance, my heart turns back to look at itself down a long hall. 

I misquote myself from seven years ago and shift all my words around.

oh devil, I’ve missed you

you’d slipped from all my hungry sight

then there you were, in the grin to my left side

sliding back your sleet-wet hair with one hand.

you shuffled ice from off your shoulders

and bared your teeth in welcome.

for all the desperate phone calls of my life,

your name is the most hooked up to Thou

you who do not come when called

and when my heart breaks itself to open water,

the wolf grin blooms from your jaw.

you, unlike the others, always seemed to know that I was bluffing weak,

that there should be no tolerance for all this wringing of hands, all these averted eyes.

One day I will spit the last of fear from my mouth, so I may glut myself on sun and sweet warm night. 

Sid BrancaComment