I found the perfect life partner and to my surprise, I've only written a few sappy cringe love poems about him because I get to live the love poem out loud every day of my life
It's almost been 4 years of loving this man,
and from day one, I've never been more sure about anything:
this is the purest, best love that is so good I thought it was only fake
until I found it.
there is no perfect set of words
just a crawling smile on my face every time I think of his name.
to love so nicely, and to be loved so incredibly in return is life's greatest wonder
how did I find this love that comes with no complications?
"how?" every day, but it's a question you shake off because you don't need to ponder it for too long, before you know it you're just 3 hours into a new conversation, legs touching while sitting on the couch, a glance over while you work next to each other separately, head thrown back in laughter as you share a bath in the tub, running errands together happily getting ketchup for your fridge, holding hands as you wait in line at the doctor, playing with his hair as he rests and he smiles in his sleep, just constantly in wonder, in awe, in love

my mind has been an empty chasm of forgotten words
i was a writer who can no longer write
a storyteller with no stories to tell
an artist with dried up paint and a broken easel
but

i forget that
i am also a person
a broken, timid person
once whole, once sure, once loved,
once
          me.

I unravelled my thoughts on a public page.

I type this, sitting in my living room,
thousands of miles from where I was born,
in the middle of a work day,
avoiding responsibilities.

I suppose not much has changed.

And yet

There's a dreaming dog at my feet.
The table is decorated with dried flowers,
and under it, a tablecloth I spent too much on.
A tablecloth we spent too much on.

Happiness in the mundane -- is this what that is?

my mouth waters like a dream. god isn’t thrilled. calls me trespasser- says, cálmate, trespasser. you must keep quiet here. do not weep. or, if you must weep, do so only with the promised tongue. keep shy near the neon pools. summon from the depths no eyeless horror. and i know god means the newt. orange of pain and spotted of soul. the newt i will love until the end of days. until fire falls from the sky. until i am found, delirious, promised tongue licking heat from its skin. god says not again, trespasser. sew shut your mouth. pluck blind your eyes. i can only give you so many deaths, and i am tired.

god gives me a book. new rules for the immolated.
i tell god,
it’s just a fever.
i won’t die
-
reduced
to
hell-fruit
-
useless,
like a puppy
-
poor puppy
-
does god
get it wrong
sometimes

i didn’t know her
but we did spend
the entire dream
picking seeds
from the devils hide
.
outside there was
a clothesline
full of angels

it was pretty

foghorn on dream beach. i prepare myself a crown of pink bones. ***. bible pages. the devil pretends to drown in shallow water. wants mouth to mouth. is willing to wait. i will not live long here.