The pastures of my sanity lie between
the first kiss of my lips
and making macaroni and cheese for one.

I’m not fluent in French
but I can speak in tongues,
better than any linguist.

And lust.
My favorite word to say,
and be.

Touch my finger to my lip,
have I gotten your attention yet?

The more I pretend to love,
the more I love to hate.

A silly game,
I’m playing it,
with you.

But the more of you I kiss,
the less of you I like.

And now,
I
the object of your so called affection,
have poisoned you
with foreshortened importance,
and plead with you-
to please retreat.

Yet you still crave me,
like some ignorant child
who’s never believed in candy
until someone told them,
it’s quite sweet.

She is a Thursday evening;
the cake before the baking.

She is a run and a jump,
or the extra squeeze
at the end of a hug.

She is the last glass of red wine,
when you’re already a little drunk.

She is the letter you wrote,
but won’t ever send.

She is skipping down the center lane,
of every place you’ve even been.

A fickle friend,
for your mind to chase.

The girl in the song,
who just wants to have fun.

She loves you,
she loves you not.

The one who got away,
or the one to get away from.

It all pours overhead,
a crashing wave of guilt and hungering lust.

Innards feel like fingers pruning,
sitting at the bottom of the shower for too long,
plugging the drain, watching the water pool.

Rose colored glasses, those aren’t for you.
Cerilian blue sadness, how I weep in mine.

Grab hold of yourself,
see what they’ve all seen so clearly.

What they’ve all said before,
does feeling have a memory?

Does that feeling ever like to sneak up on memory
and hold it by the neck
with a knife
and a threat.

Puncture it,
fill it up with blood.

Latching onto it’s victim,
creating crimes of agonizing nostalgia.

The kind that wakes you up at night
but then turns on you,
keeps you pressing the snooze button,
the same things you want to forget, you want to remember-
your thoughts,
a cruel crime of forever.

The fog spread like peach jam
overtop the overpasses.

Deep inhalations
held in our tired palms
as we watched exit signs
pass by
and marked each mile
we could no longer turn back
further.

A colony of sparkling starlets
lay a glow on the dashboard.

A small slip of fumbling thumbs  
or perhaps a trip
in the wrong direction
sent me backwards
a tipsy turn
or subconscious fear of directions.

But soon,
she found herself trapped
between diluted affections
and a car headed fast
in but one direction.

I am
water droplets,
molecules
splitting down
the center.

Dividing and
dissolving.

Salt enhanced
rain water,
rolling down
hot skinned
cheek bones.

I think kissing
is the easiest way
to get to know someone.

The insides of their lips have hold
of every word they have ever said,
or ever will say.

And doesn’t that say more
than a hand shake or a hug?

The pressing of my heart
to yours
is more like feeling
of the weight
you surround in me.

Your thoughts
on the other hand,
can’t be held
by my hand at all.

The insincerity of a hand
can only be told
by the doors it holds open
and doors it slams shut.

Senior year is about telling everyone what you will do after you graduate and go off into the real world.
The real world is about i’m not really sure but i think i have to start paying taxes.
Paying taxes is about paying your dues in the place you live, which might be called your home.
Home is about the place you feel most comfortable.
Comfortable isn’t about growing.
Comfortable is about the deep breathe you take after getting good news.
Good news is about the funny youtube videos that your’ chronically optimistic friend tags you in on Facebook.
Facebook is about having a place to post the things you hope other will people care about in your life.
Life is about trying to love more than you hate.
Hate is about a bad taste in your mouth and tears running down yours cheeks.
Hate is about breaking dishes for no reason.
Love is about washing dishes for no reason.
Love is about a fluttering butterfly that could have left but chooses to stay.
Staying is about not leaving.
Leaving is about change.
Change is about going to your favorite restaurant and ordering something different.
Change is about your heart beating twice as fast.
Change is about a pursuit of happiness.
Happiness is about laughing when you least expect to.