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The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling.

Richard Siken

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Richard Siken
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: February 15
Poet
New York City
New York
Alive
Body
Slam
Way
Reminds
Always
Darling
Monsters
Hungry
Mines
Mine

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If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.
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Who am I? I'm just a writer. I write things down. I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure, I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow glass, but that comes later.
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Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
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You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room.
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You wanted happiness, I can’t blame you for that, and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me you love this, tell me you’re not miserable.
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The light is no mystery, the mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through.
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He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.
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Fairy tales have rules. You are a princess or you aren’t. You are pure at heart or you aren’t. If you are pure at heart, or lucky, you might catch a break.
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We laugh & it pits the world against us.
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We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.
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I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me and I have to search my body for scars.
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I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything, couldn’t do it anyway, just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made any sense, anything.
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You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.
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Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands, these shins, these soapy flanks
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Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.
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The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell. Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.
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I'm bleeding, I'm not just making conversation.
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You’re falling now. You’re swimming. This is not           harmless. You are not                     breathing.
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I don't know where I end and the world begins. My best guess? Skin. It's the only actual boundary between the body and the world, between a body and any other body.
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Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.
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