Open, close




When someone close tells me they’re a terrible liar,

I can’t help but wonder if they’re a really good liar

and if I would trust-fall into their arms

on a supporting girder under the Lion’s Gate bridge.


if I would let them choose my day’s clothes

from my closet while I stand by, eyes closed.

or if I would ever close off the world,

my head resting on their shoulder


(…or if that would be mutually weird.)


if I could expose my mind to let

it be the most naked,

if I could describe, say, the phantom pounds of guilt

that dog-pile on my back, sometimes


to invite them to the way

I hear, smell,

remember and forget

the world…



Not that she’s asking.

But something about this surrender of her own,

Not just those words,

but her eyes flashing up into mine

cheeks rising

chin tilting down

head slowly shaking to a settle

and I want to surrender, too.