In a pinch of light,
waiting it to happen―
becoming me.

You, my crush―
floundering in fever
of the moon.

I track you down
in the tears
of earthquake, when
snow was trembling.

Thin needles in eyes―,
I retrieve the―
history of fallen
god.

A survivor would
rise from the rubble
to reconstruct the shrine.

Don't you dare speak those words.

You know exactly what they will do,
to you,
and to him.

There will be no more
you and him.

Like the peach blossoms
broken from the delicate, young branches,
the verbal hail storm,
the weight of the ice,
will knock him to the frozen ground.

Raw,
Unsure how much affection he can return,
of how his own whirling thoughts fit with yours.
Your tale, far from fairy, will end.

Your open heart will shrivel,
like the salty sardines you left on the wooden picnic table
in the burning sun.

You will regret your thoughts and
you will regret your feelings,
but know, sadly, there was nothing left to do,
but leave too soon.

I would miss the intensity
Of your sweet, sweet honeycomb heart
The endearing amber in your beard
And the strong hands I didn't fear
The way your soft eyes become so light
In the morning bright
Your warm skin against mine,
Holding me so tight
Your husky laugh
At my joking attempts
The tiny touch of my hip,
The ******* stroking of my hair
Gripping my *******
Thrusting hard, endless pleasure
I could sit in your sensual silence forever

Happiness knows no bounds
Inside your concrete floors and brick walls
Your open windows,
My open chest

"I'm going miss you"
Of
     Course
I'll miss you too.
But
      This summer
Reeks with
  The memory of what happened
Especially when you say

"Are you gonna come home
Pack up
Leave"
I wasn't planning to
      I've always loved you
          I've never left you

"Are you ******* your TA"
The actual ****
      Why
I've
never
Given
Anyone else
The time of day.
Why talk to me that way

Im sure it's projection
But give me a breath man
I'm drowning trying make you happy
Your boot prints on my waterlogged shoulders

"Am I excited to come home"
I dont really know
Who I'm comming home to
Anymore
What happened to you

His thread weaving through my silk cloth
Agonizing at first I had thought,
he punctured exhaustively through my sheath.
I felt broken and torn from deep beneath
I then came to the realization; I was sewn up tighter and tougher than ever before
so

Thank you.

We collect things
play with them awhile
put them away
where they accumulate

The unfinished project
in the garage
The clothes you are wearing right now
The dirt under your fingernails
the people who call you by name
the randomness of it all
becomes part of the story

This rainy day
a couple weeks before Christmas
feels like home
no happy ending
just old hands
soft  to touch.