is celebrated with a call through tin can phones
connected by yarn- to us. He sends warm wishes and warnings, slurred together as spirits replace blood. Our kiss was nine rings around the tin can ago, under a streetlamp where you've unveiled a pool of Acacias and shamrocks.
We are crafted of cement chips from the streets we once sauntered.
We grasp for one another's hands on playground equipment,
stomachs full of one-dollar cinnamon rolls from Jewel-Osco,
cowering from the sun like children in a blanket fort.
we are safe when we are together we are invincible
There will always be splinters of us. My name
is spelled out where the light meets the street –
a balmy, January sunset birthing,
crawling to a dry.
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 12:15 AM UTC
Do you remember
the night when we were
leaned against your
car
and your car radio played
a song about
those ******* beautiful
stars?
You whispered to me
that you were happy
and I was happy,
too.
Those feelings
eroded like stones into
streams and you took
those ******* beautiful
stars with
you.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
I live for sunrises down south and late nights under city lights.
For the smell of french fries in the air conditioning.
I live for mornings where I'm driving home to the sun rise
and school buses pass me by
and passers by are making a routine stop to their local drive thru.
I live for the mornings where I spread awful news in a pleasant way
throwing on my sweatshirt that encourages my surrounding
engaging in long phone calls with a relative, my best friend,
and spicy coffee with an elegant design in a large glass mug.
I live for days where I lay down on my bed with a fan in my face
after being leaned over the couch burying my face in the air conditioner
cause its ******* hot outside and the air conditioning isn't doing enough.
I live for the days spent on the front room floor with gifts galore because Santa came the night before;
the five of us gather on to the couch and floor and wait our turn to hear our names called
while we shoo'd the dog out of the middle of the floor.
Oh how I miss that dog.
I live for nights where we visit the coffee shop
and we sit around for a bit not knowing what to talk about
but we end up kissing at your apartment anyways.
I live for other nights at the coffee shop when its winter and we're on a date
where we order our tea and coffee and we hold hands like lovers would
and we walk and sit by ourselves and you sing to me songs that you've written.
That's the only time I've lived for nights like those.
I live for the first day of school and those unpleasant ice-breakers
the time-wasters
the 'tell-us-something-interesting-about-yourself' even though I don't give a *******
I live for first encounters with a new face
the before-you're-officially-together chase
that part of the relationship where you reach second base
and the end where they tell you "I need some space."
For the sight of skyline on I-94.
For the smell of crayons and wooden floor boards
perfectly tuned guitar chords
soft pretzels at the shopping mall
and Jack White's voice.
For the sounds of a skateboard hitting concrete
for busy feet on a city street
and excited gasps when we stepped foot into our unexpected suite.
I know this sounds cliche, but I live for another person's embrace
pulling into a front row parking space
receiving your first gift to me, a turquoise cigarette case
longing for the day I'll touch Leonardo DiCaprio's face.
I live for torso-pressing-into-the-lap-bar roller coaster drops
the season of tank tops
travel brochures from truck stops
drunk stumbles to the pizza shop
watching re-runs of Wife Swap
and collecting shot glasses from gift shops.
I live for nights of "real talk" with close friends
dreaming of studio apartments full of odds and ends
and writing a poem with an odd end.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC