{"id":2766,"date":"2016-04-11T15:52:44","date_gmt":"2016-04-11T15:52:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=2766"},"modified":"2016-04-11T15:52:44","modified_gmt":"2016-04-11T15:52:44","slug":"nathan-tompkins-april-2016","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/nathan-tompkins-april-2016\/","title":{"rendered":"Nathan Tompkins, April 2016"},"content":{"rendered":"

Breaking<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That first night, I wanted to stretch<\/span><\/p>\n

my lips across the table, draw circles<\/span><\/p>\n

to dot its black varnished surface,<\/span><\/p>\n

and press them into your smile,<\/span><\/p>\n

feel your breath brush against my tongue.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That last night, you on your knees,<\/span><\/p>\n

the feet of your palms cradling your eyes,<\/span><\/p>\n

as the cries fell down your cheeks,<\/span><\/p>\n

my shouts echoed in drywall corners<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

in sharp contrast to our pillow laughter<\/span><\/p>\n

just a few nights before, your left breast<\/span><\/p>\n

cushioned by my hand, as our sweat<\/span><\/p>\n

slowly dried from our naked tired bodies,<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I can still see you crying, kneeling<\/span><\/p>\n

as I slammed the door behind me,<\/span><\/p>\n

stalked with the dog leashed woven<\/span><\/p>\n

between my finger joints, as I walked her<\/span><\/p>\n

for a half mile, smoking cigarette after cigarette.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My anger friction burned your thighs, <\/span><\/p>\n

but your lazy arrhythmic sighs <\/span><\/p>\n

told me your heart wasn\u2019t in it,<\/span><\/p>\n

and, really, neither was mine.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I kept seeing your blond hair<\/span><\/p>\n

pasted to your cheeks by tears<\/span><\/p>\n

like drowned memories floating<\/span><\/p>\n

at the bottom of a whiskey glass.<\/span><\/p>\n

Nathan Tompkins is a writer living in Portland, Oregon, though North Idaho will always be his home. \u00a0His work has appeared in many publications including Fickle Muses, Yellow Chair Review, and Crab Fat Magazine<\/strong>. \u00a0He is the author of four chapbooks, the most recent of which are A Song of Chaos<\/strong> and Lullabies to a Whiskey Bottle.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Breaking   That first night, I wanted to stretch my lips across the table, draw circles to dot its black varnished surface, and press them into your smile, feel your breath brush against my tongue.   That last night, you on your knees, the feet of your palms cradling your eyes, as the cries fell […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2766","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nNathan Tompkins, April 2016 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/nathan-tompkins-april-2016\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Nathan Tompkins, April 2016 - 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