when i haven't got the time

i am repetitive,
and 'speechless' takes too long to write--
a gap between us is more temporary
than presence
because we are drawn,
like magnets or sketches,
bodies close and physics notwithstanding.

strings from fingertips to stars,
we are a heavy glass of evening
heady and incapable of smooth breath;
have you heard our spines lately
as they wrap dreamily around streetlamps?
they tell us that language
is a toy--

[and i talk like it's going out of style.]

there is no try, only do.

possibly,
you are a second skin
or rather
you are a dream--
all the most comfortable things,
you are a comfort to me
darling.

possibly,
you have always been there
rain-soaked and wide-eyed
greengreengreen like velvet,
because i feel as though we've grown
upward and outward from bad weather--
sunrise-like, we wake up
together.

and possibly,
we are wheels or words or whimsical longing,
something permanent or
perpetual
as i'd like to be;
although we are fleeting,
we only decay at our own fixed rate and
i feel very much as though
we could be less like clouds and
more like atmosphere.

[and quite possibly, i'd like to hear your voice again every time you stop talking.]

CHANGE

eyes closed,
how about we drink up
mid-afternoon skylines and
it's funny because we used to Be;
am i significant?

Call me in the middle of the day,
Heavy lids and heavy limbs,
All heady summertime and sidewalks;
Never do we climb glass stairs,
Going up--
Everywhere you are, i am not.

you are a paper airplane,
designed to fly--designed to fall;
four seconds of grace then you're a
car crash, bar fight, comedic relief
but it's in ill taste--
hot mess, you're just a Mess.

you know you're an outlet--

to be blunt,
your lips are a train wreck and
i am elated to burn to death in the
spatial explosion your mouth on mine
inexplicably and consistently creates;
i am finding that we could be plaster
molded to perfection
and still not be in love, sweetheart,
and have you thought that maybe
it's all summer leaves and no
wind?

although you are green grass to my
sun-stormed sidewalk,
i have energy enough for the Atlantic
and i miss ocean-dipped fingertips
along my skin.
there is no 'us' except when we're alone
because we can't stop thinking about
the way our lips are built for each other,
petal-shaped flesh soft like air
but more than i've ever needed--

once again,
i miss your touch.

consistencies

i know now that
if you want to bottle sunshine,
be prepared for storms:

proximity is just what it used to be
but More--
three hours is a long time in an opium den
but it makes me want to cry,
and the worst part is that you know
already.

[i hope my face makes you want to dive from a
Skyscraper
because it's the least i can do in return.]

this is where you stand.

opportunities are not unlike cobwebs;
in all likelihood they were always there
and it's only when you brush them away
that you note their presence.
and you, with your bone-straight hair and
skin like soapstone,
you are a memory with a depression in the center
where happiness pooled like rain;
and in the end you are the only thing
i ever wanted to try
more than once.

but i'm here to tell you that
you're back, but you're not alone
and i won't let you be alone,
because i am not dependent anymore

[i move surrounded by things that i could live without, love
don't you know that breathing is an art form?]

and i've said it--

i want to fall from the sky and land like a rock,

freefalling is the art of living and you've taught me well,
ongoing river of electric though you are;
round eyes are not a part of my day, i've learned to
guard myself well-- and there are some things
i can live without, things like sun and picture-perfect
veins, a highlight even in January, and as of right now
everything is forgotten.

your gaze will still inflict heatstroke like an
oceanside fire, but today i want you to know that
underneath my skin, blood still runs.

i can't quite stop.

there was that time when
we danced on linoleum
sticky with spilled coffee
and we were a lovely couple
in a filthy little hole;
we hid stars in our pores and
laughed when people said we shone
and our greatest aspiration was
only slightly more than a dream.

your laugh was a degenerate thing,
not unlike a sewer rat in a bowtie;
it's funny, but only if you don't think about it.

i distinctly remember your smell,
and i find increasingly that i'd like not to;
twenty-four hours is more than enough time
to forget you if i try hard enough
and it is inexcusable that i haven't yet--

[i am inexcusable.]

i hate to say this,

but i'm leaving your sun-starched cliffsides
burnt orange with time, and i'm leaving
your starry-explosion-oceanside
for a better view of my own insides,
all earth tones and matching palettes--

i am leaving you
for a better view
of myself.

--

the sound of bones popping makes me think of you--
you are marrow in my bloodstream,
deadly in a matter of seconds and god you hurt
when you go down.
you're a pill made of sandpaper and brambles,
painful to swallow and no good for the soul.

--

i want a change of scenery,
but even more i want physical harm--
let's hit each other until our brains bleed
because i love the way my cheek feels on gravel,
fill my veins with fire because i like the way it glows;

my passtime is imagining your face hitting rock bottom.

although i'm sure you've already noticed,

i want you to know:

i notice every inch of discomfort you are ever in.
when it's cold outside i think of you.
when it's cold indoors i think of you.
on warm mornings i hope you're happy still
because, much like the sun as you are,
you still complain about the heat.
i associate you with celestial bodies of light,
and not just because your eyes look like a
deep-space nebula on days when they shift blue.
i am hypersensitive to your touch, and
wish you were as sensitive to mine.
i feel very much as though you were built
for another time or another place,
but am content to wrap my arms around you
here and now, regardless.
i think about you more than i'd like to admit.

i love you.

lessthanStable

halfway home smells like honey and irony,
i could turn around and be farther than i started
but i could never remember where i'd come from
[except your skin, your skin, your skin]

please keep up, i cannot lie
you are a natural wonder and like a tourist
i would travel milesandmilesandmiles
to see the phenomenon your existence creates
[how could you know what an experience you've become?]

i may have a problem dear,
i simply cannot stop breathing your air--
proximity is a lightheaded drug to which i'm sadly addicted
and i haven't the heart to tell you
[don't be concerned, because i love you still]

touch is better than ecstasy,
touchisecstasy.

It's My Job, Baby, I've Gotta Go.

you have to work to
stay alive to keep on
working for the hope
that someday we will
be broken bones and
dust in your eye on a
late summer day, we
haven't the slightest
idea what 'alive' can
be because we're all
working so hard to
be
dead.