I want to write it on your skin:
how I love you, need you, know you.
want you. there is warmth in every second
drinking time with you, love on eyes.
I want to stretch prose across your back,
your neck, your lips, your hands,
your arms, where I rest in pieces
of deep contentment.
I want to cover you in ink...
tasting blue on your lips,
feeling you feel the words I stutter to say
and writing love on your skin.

It's late now, and the moon is too loud.
the cold touch, surreality
and the harshness of knowing are too much.
I need the static and to chew glass,
to dive beneath the grassy waves
or become part of the mattress.
it's too loud, too light.
i need to be still, so that this will pass me by.
if no one breathes, and i close my eyes
perhaps i can purge myself of sense
scrub my mind, my insides
and think of nothing at all.

i try
everyday
to make myself cold
small and  jagged
so that perhaps
you will believe the lies i tell you
everyday
and leave.
i try
everyday
to make myself
leave you
your warm smile
and soft hands
that thaw me, because if not,
you'll think that i love you.
and i will.

How, now, to toss a heart
and prevent inevitable shatter?

she loves war paint,
battle drums,
peace rallies, angry kisses
sports what-me heels?
and ****** lashes
she'll break your heart,
or a window
with sweet reassurances
on buzzed breath.

Watch the stars fall down
a metronome guiding through
the electric buzz.