Two Poems

I Want To Tell You Yes

I want to eat your sparrow, come
here. I want to lick your sparrow claws come
here. I want to cut your sorrows out
you’re hollowed out. Come here.
I want to suck your fingers off.
Come here.
I want to give you your history back.
Your fingers back. I want to tell you yes.
Come back. I want to show you my pressure,
my heavy, my opened and clothes, my under
and o’s. Come here. I want to finger
your bones back. I want to sew your bones back
I want to re-blood your history.
I want to undo you like a mystery
novel. Is this the kitchen? The table-saw?
Is this your memory? Your tree-dream? You’re declawed.
I want to give you your teeth back. Your teeth marks.
I want to spit back your teeth-pull. I want to unhinge your heart-jaws.
Come here. I want to sit you down on the bed and give you back
my years. Here. I breathed your name into the leaves.
Here. I breathed you back into the trees. Here. This is your tree-dream
this is your tree-house, this is a bedroom, this is a silver broom
this is a shallow dream. This is my tree-dirt, my bee shirt.
This is my honey-stalk and these are your climbing shoes.
Harmonica me to sleep again. Put your sparrow on my back skin.

If Morning Never Comes

I.
When you’re not here I try to fuck
the sky backwards: with my mouth.
I want everything to call me night.

II.
Last night I cut you out
to hear you siren. Wanted the dishes
to turn into broken.

III.
If you weren’t so blue, I said, I’d hollow
your worries out.

IV.
The bath rages like a coward.
If you were here I’d wash your laundry
in my sink, I’d tell you to go home and then
to not go home.