Orion straddles the rooftops

The underside of night
and I am throwing away boxes
that held pieces of my old life

and there you are,
as I’m tiptoeing back from the dumpster
careful to hop over the puddles that gather
to the terra cotta steps that lead me to new.

You are straddling the rooftops
bringing to me a punchy light
watching me as I stare up into your vulnerability.

Now you are the action hero
sandwiched between two buildings
risking your life to save the victim

Now you are the kitchen maiden
holding up her skirts as she walks to the privy
squatting over dignity

Now you are the normal
the everyday warrior

toppled from your pedestal stamp on the sky
shoehorned into the sliver I can see.

Now you are again my Orion

a constant backdrop to my altars
a wink to the fathers of my youth

peeking in to check on me
and watching as I stare into my vulnerability.

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I don’t want to be the only one

I don’t want to be the only one who loves you
The one who smiles when you laugh
and laughs when you joke

I don’t want to be the only one
who seeks you out when I’m broken
who hears your advice when I’m alone
who betters their life knowing you are in it.

I don’t want to be the only one
who sees the gold in your face
who eats the dishes of acceptance
you create

who drinks from your cup of consideration.

I don’t want to be the only one
who eats their words when they harm you
or reproaches their life when it rebounds you

the only one who misses you when you aren’t around.

I don’t want to be the only one who loves you

I don’t want to be the only one.

Shareable Sister

Altars are not unique
no invention of mine to exalt or extinct.

The world celebrates this day in an infinite amount of
necessary or neglect

and yet

you and I, shareable sister,
celebrate the same in our fate.

Indistinguishable at times, other than
the larger than life one’s mate.

We cannot even unique our way in our call,
as the syllables uttered to our face
are the same.

Inevitable, we share our hearts
we share our length and breadth of bearing
our undivided and insatiable parts
our outlooks and unlimited caring.

In darkness we both hold out our arms
in light our laughter runs unchecked
our hearts beat madly at the blink of his eyes

Our yin and yang pulling together to make
his world.

Scatter us to the sides of the universe
and he would stretch his limbs to the point of breaking
his torture voluntary

He would overextend his reach for me
if it meant he could hold onto you

His endeavor admirable but unnecessary
because the universe of our axes

moves.

Skin Metal, Part 2

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “First!.”

The day she tugged off the armor,
the woman-child trembled.

Her fingers, twittering birds of frustration,
crept across the metal planes like the wind
caressing stone.

She bit into her lip, the scarf unraveling from her cheeks,
her skin prickling against the chest-plate,
now stuck to her like a tongue on a frozen lamp post,
and she winced.

She winced as the chafed skin underneath,
pinkened with blood
and naked with possibility
revealed one new set of eyes
and two sets of hands.

Those eyes had watched her skin unravel inside the armor,
those hands stretched out to steady her
offering a blanket, offering an embrace,
but only after each tendered piece of metal

each nook and cranny of remaining child
was well and truly gone.

Part 1