She Speaks the Words that are in her bones

But only some truth.

How?

But, how do I tell him?
Stop our idle chatter,
and tell him about my irrepressible urge
to disappear into the night.
Every night, any night.

Interrupt his childhood memory,
with the notion that nowhere
feels like home anymore.
Except airports.
And planes for the first 10 seconds
after taking my seat.

How do I explain, in the middle
of talking about home gardens,
that the only homes I want to own
are cabins at the bases of cliffs
and the edges of seas
and in the middle of woods,
covered in moss.

I’m not sure how to slip
my desire to be on a road
cold 
and lonely 
and lost
into my discussion of client emails
and work projects.

How do you ask a person
if they understand your deepest,
darkest need to run?
How do you ask a person
if they’d run with you?

Negations

Luck.
Such a word
is an insult
a weapon.
Negating the price
I have paid.

I may have
reconsidered, had I
known the bottom line.

But I paid it,
nonetheless.

Ours

Every lover I’ve ever taken
has scooped out a piece
of me.

Some took bones.
The first made off with
a rib. Painful but
unnecessary. Replaceable.
Later one nibbled away my scapula.
I didn’t even notice
until my right arm just hung, limp.

Others nick things off the surface
toenails, moles.
A kiss is worth a lock of hair,
but if you’re still there the next day
you’ve probably at least gotten at least
a ligament.

The best only steal senses
Disappearing with retinas,
Nerve endings in my tongue
and breasts and fingertips.
I filed a police report
on the theft of my cochlea.

But they don’t stop there.
If only.
In the place of the stolen goods
they leave something behind
Similarly weighted
it almost fits the same.

But not quite,
and I am covered in seams.
My hipbones still smell
of Ronnie.
Josh tinges everything my
left ring finger feels.
My new collarbone pops,
thanks to Kurt.

Some nights they are demons
rising unbidden.
Other nights they keep me warm,
walk me home.