I can feel your
grip between my fingers
loosen.

You’ve left without telling me.

-I’ll hold on too tight.
-Tell you I love you more than I should.
-Buy you flowers out of exhaustion.
-Brag about you to my parents.
-Pretend like everything’s fine.

But the door is swinging closed.
The hands of the clock have grown stiff with arthritis.
Everything the air holds is choking me slowly

But not hard enough.

“One foot in front of the other.”
“Loneliness is only a feeling.”

Night is all day long.


G. E. Lovely

Tone down the light
of the sun.

Hang the moon in front
of his father.

Dry the oceans.

Tear off the roof of heaven.

After your lips,
your fingers,
your cheeks,
the song in your throat,
the listening in your chest,
the rejoice of your mouth,

the world is flat.

Nothing is beautiful.



G. E. Lovely

There’s something warm
inside of you.

Like Krishna
in her bountiful beauty
singing through your body.

The constellation of freckles
your shoulders hold
is forever
lost under my fingertips
and there are elephants
living inside of my
chest.

They gallop.
They wallow.
They dance.

My heart pumps once
to keep up with your breath.

And now,
again.


G. E. Lovely

The knives fall
through
the vegetables
and you are
perched on the counter
like a finch.

The air around
this kitchen of ours
is warm
and sweet.

We dance between
the stirrings of
the soup.

Kiss before the
bread burns.

Your hands come
alive and
blossom around my throat.

The fire alarm sounds.

I am full.
I am full.




G. E. Lovely

In Astoria
we counted the steps
between your house and mine.

Your skin was so soft.

I felt God for the first time
on your front porch.

Felt sin
on your lips.

I still repent
to the thought
of your voice.

Church is 14 years old
dizzy
and willingly deafened by
the touch of a girl.

I think of your smile.

The ten-thousand melodies
between your
teeth.

You winged orchid.
You rooftop sinner.
You gentle siren.

Sing me home, sing me home, sing me home.

I found God
in your palms.

And that’s all
this poem is;

a saved soul
between
your fingers.


G. E. Lovely

Asleep on the couch
you smile with a dream
behind your lips.

A fountain in Croatia
overflows with water
and the children are happy
to indulge themselves.

You’re the warmth of the ground
beneath bare feet.


G. E. Lovely

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