I wrote you love poems
long before I met you

and I will

write you love poems
long after you are gone.

I am the caustic clarity in a thought
I am the clearest day covered in storm

I am the brittle bit of bone
that Old Men toss onto the dirt floor
in deep emerald Congo

I am the Winter

I am the glass tube sliding in
the steel cold to the plastic.

I was once something that meant something,
but you see,
I am that lovers' kiss,
that first cross-room-glance,
that needing-you-like-the-desert-needs-the-rain,
that poetic ******* cliche'

And like them,
I,
too,
have become meaningless.

And so I write here
so as not to disturb.
What can I say?
All I am is words.

I'm in the passenger seat
next to you
and you don't say a ******* word
and I don't say a ******* word
and we watch the world speed by
eyes ahead
in silence.

I am content.

Search me,
stretch me out over the table of our history together,
with your tongue trace my skin like it's a map,
and find your way back home to us.

The days fall together
like books falling
from a shelf.

The walls have faces
where the clocks
lost hands.

And it is,
so it is,
and shall be
in a cascade of
goose-flesh
and
happiness.

There's a caterpillar in my right ear canal.
It's almost neon-green,
with poison-orange bulbs,
the color of grafted cactus.  

It's squeezed its way quite far in, stuffed
itself in as if it were an expanding foam earplug,
the spines stuck in my inner pink skin.

I lean my head to the right, knock
the left side with the flat of my palm.
Eggs, the same as desiccant beads,
the color of earwax, pitter-patter out and onto my table
as if they were plastic raindrops on a trampoline.

There will come a day when it cocoons itself, and that moth
flies free, but until that day, I will continue
to turn it towards you
every time you speak.

Once a window came down over me
and I saw through it, there
in the distorted time signatures
changing to odd-numbers on even
seconds pass since
I watched you
walk out of the frame
and you never noticed
a bed of broken wishes
and sunken-middle vases.

I will show you
just how soft
and close
it can
feel
when
it is

engorged in near-violence
shudder your teeth
as your whole body
grinds on its own shaking muscles

inner thighs
*******
neck

and suddenly
you aren't sure anymore
that more love is made
making love
or being
******
and
owned.

My bones reach you too late.
Would
excuses heard as lies
lead our ghosts into
their graves?

My skin soaks you too soon.
Would
heart-break lived as death
give my life a way
into my tomb?

My loyalty ***** your face.
Could
prayers answered in vain
let my life ever
escape itself?

Weight presses
concludes everything,
decides what is nothing,
whips an errand boy to its whim.

Pressure,
withstood
at the promise
of jewels.

When the world
falls apart around you
remember breakfast
is the most important meal.

The heat from the furnace
cannot replace
the warmth
of you

and I'm freezing
in your absence.

The world crumbles
as my feet lose footing
as my eyes stare, crying
as my heart stops, dissolving
as my soul becomes emptiness
as my hardest attempts to
hold on
are met with
nothing.

It was a blurred mirror
on that Sunday morning,
the wall, black
stretching above there is nothing
but shattering little words
that fell
into his sleep.

It's funny how quickly
people disrespect you,  
when you start realizing
your worth.

I turn,
the trap tray,
in my hand,
other
on the light switch.

Deep sigh

...

thesoundofmyownbreath

...

an empty place

...

move on with your night

comfort shows
itself
in
comfort shows
on Hulu.

You say you've
given
all the love you
have.

Every
last
bit.

And
Love contracts
Love cools
Love dies

But
Love relives
Love warms
Love grows

Love finds the way
like a grass blade
from concrete.

The
pavement
cracks like
memories.

There's a Greyhound destination
stolen from the eerie
little pieces of falsetto voice carrying me
through the end of times like
Revelation could make you wet,
I'll make you ***,
split between what should be
and
what was done.

I feel like you are the only real thing I've had.
I feel you in my heart.
I think about your taste, your scent.
I think about you.

I think of you as a child to me.
I think about you all the time.
I think about my seed pumping into you, your *** up, my feet planted forward
(you know the position)
I think about you.

I think about your smile.
I think about that giggle.
I think about your eyes rolling back as you ***.
I think about you.
I think about you.
I think about you.

My favourite pet daydream,
(her combustion creates me)
that I eagerly await
to set fire to flames.

I am only three thrusts away
enjoying the girl,
oh her little bones,
sweet somber hair
as my pants
become tighter.

I watch you brushing teeth,
foam on your lips,
as my crippled spider
legs sway forward on
towards your tender little ***
hole like a cherry,
hidden within the cleft of a peach,
sweet, then a flash of violence
towards your haunches, hips, shanks.

Older women are sweet like saccharine,
but you are pure cane,
****** peppermint
cinnamon disks,
which drip
the same as crushed
maraschino cherries.

Distanced distractions
now too close
arrange my Catopaxi,
inverse flow
the molten snow
from every crevasse
to the waiting sea.

Wouldn't it be easier
if life
made more sense
than that
last line?

The cup
I have filled
with you,
is pouring out
leaving me
dry
and
dead.

I cycle,
as little as possible
much more than I'd like
thinking of you
feeling you
wrecking myself
wishing this life would end
wishing this feeling would never end
alarming myself
at how fast
I cycle.

I was your first,
but more importantly,
I want to be your last.

Passing out at pulpit
never assuaging
signal lines fraying
straying lights praying
playing heights failing

Corona solitude
ember has a magnitude
un-burden your burden
fail the feathers: fire, ice, leaf.

Is this a dream,
or am I just remembering
a trinity?
Is it minus one?

If I've coagulated,
then the emptiness lost
is a cancer I will remove.

"Dasehra, make these shackles go away. Dasehra, as long as I am injured. Dasehra, as long as I remember." ~ Cedric Bixler-Zavala

This is dedicated
to the dead words
deleted.

And I remember fantasizing about your
Death
My hands wringing out your delicate
Throat
My weeping member pumping you full of
***

Delicate thing
the bones exposed
through translucent skin
under which flows
the vivid red lines,
highways that lead
to and from
her heart.

And I'm dreaming of a dream
and we are lost,
white makeup,
trees, everywhere.

I spread gravel once
flat across a lawn...
wishing it was me.

I made a trash bag-wreath once
white-pure strips of plastic...
wishing it was me.

I looked up at the delicate sky
held in place forever
crying to be fleeting
trapped in existence: eternity.

I heard family ghost stories once
stained branches on family tree...
wishing it was me.

I long to slip
beneath your surface,
but I freeze everything
I touch.

I had enough of emptiness,
the shallow grave I've been digging myself.
Lying to myself all this time
thinking I was digging to China
but only inches down
ready to fall in and expire.

But there is no expiration date
on love.

All zeros and ones
binary becoming
the form of my dream
out of the digital screen.

When you are here,
you light up my world.
And so,
when you're gone,
I keep all the lights on.

The bedroom light on
(I imagine you in there reading)
The bathroom light on
(I imagine you in there grooming)
The living room light on
(I imagine you doing homework)

And still,
my world,
is dim.

Feathers burst forth
seared with sunlight.
The coast is clear,
baby girl,
the waves are breaking
turquiose shores,
and my heart
is aching to consume you.

They said your footprints
were still on the windowsill
when the authorities showed up

I wonder how long my hand prints will remain

as I lean out and see the last thing you ever saw
speed towards you
like that camera trick they use where the background speeds forward
but the person stands still

I feel you in my nose here
all that remains of you is
a scent of yellowed dime-store novel pages
and I can't help but agree
when scientists say that
our sense of smell is the one most closely tied
to our memories.

They always said you had an old soul

but I know better

You lived with the clarity of a newborn's eyes.

The hold music is especially poignant today
and my heart is hurting
as I wash the last dish you ever used,
feeling the last warm water that involves you,
with my fingers wrinkling up one last time
as I commit this morning ritual,
again,
with no one to celebrate it with.

Seriously,
don't come to close
to me.

She lit his darkened heart with light
the most beautiful he'd ever seen.
She dragged him in like a magnet
pulling black holes from the sky.
She made it impossible to escape
her grasp and be drawn into her.

Then, "one day she stiffened"
and pushed him away
and he fell into that big
black hole.

Stretched into an oblivion of time;
nothing but memories
of a light that once
burned.

He looks at her (his eyes dilate)
and says, "I'd
die
for you."

She frowns into a smile (she wears a mask)
and said, "No, please
live
for me."

And so,
he lived
for her.

And...
    then...
        she...
            left...

And with her
    went his
   reason to
       live.

Don't think I dont know.

The music isn't a magnet,
it's an escape.

You've got a little secret, don't you?

The women envious of that ***,
jealous of those eyes,
hating your hips and *******,

the men hungry for that ***,
hypnotized by those eyes,
mouths watering for those hips and *******,

but they know that
you are a good girl
you don't do those terrible things they think
you are innocent, pure, locked up
tight.

But you've got a ***** little secret, don't you?

You walk around with
your skin burning for a touch
your mouth begging for a ****
your ******* longing to be pinched and pulled
your *** eager for a *******
your throat hoping to be choked
**** cheeks burning for a beating
and a warm little wet spot on your *******
all day long.

You've got a secret,
a ***** little secret,
don't you?

And suddenly
Flash...
What was uncertain
black and white
Was now certain
brilliant colour.

Do you know
that you are a light in my world,
that you are the smartest girl in the world,
that you are the sweetest person in the world?
Do you know
that you are the most beautiful person in the world,
that you keep me together,
that without you I'd be completely lost?
Do you know
that I'm not going anywhere,
that I'm all-in,
that I will fight for you,
for us?
Do you know?
Do you now?

I've got so much for you,

(fingers that play twister with yours,

stencils carving your name just above your skin just
barely brushing baby hair around
your navel,

barely breathed words of love,

soft sandpaper stubble to drag out goose fleshed neck nape
as it reaches up to reach my chin,

slightly parted lips grazing yours and then a sudden
gasp of teeth into your skin,

waking wrapped around you in a moment I can make feel
more than a mere instant but like it would never end,

as the sun sneaks its way into the blinds
reflecting soft shadows off of your every angle,
and the power to
take
your
breath
away.)

if you'd only accept it...if you'd only accept it.

The sky rains feathers onto your wrists tied down,
your blind eyes nervous,
excitedly worried in the best way.

I am the gentlest man you could know.

I am the roughest man you could know.

In those little contrasts,
wax paper and lace,
milk and alcohol,
cigarettes and oxygen tanks exploding like your body,
when I devour you.

Your wry smile,
smirk the moisture away
on the back of you hand,
drawn across your lips.

Bring me to my knees,
that I may look you eye-to-eye.

The ocean surface
spills into a sinking vessel
and
     I
        am
       d r   i   f      t       i           n                g

The other day I dove into water...
I swear I heard
your voice
like an echo
stirring in my mind
as I was drowning,

As my heart spent its last breath,
it said your name.