I wish I could draw hands
There's something remarkable about yours
When you are holding your camera
Or your coffee cup
Or when you lean
against the kitchen door frame
In dawn light
One handed grasp on the pullup bar
And the flow of your forearms
And the way your sleep heavy eyes
Reach mine

I look at you like a painting
I love but can never afford to touch
Walking to the gallery every day
Trying to memorize
The way the light bends around it
Wondering if i can talk the artist
Into giving it to a loving home
For the 50 bucks in my pocket.
I dont have much
...
But this broken mind
And that youve filled it.
Yesterday,
I bartended in the summer rain
And could only remember
that you said
You love to dance.
Nobody
Not even the rain
Compares to you

I like your ink on paper perminance
The hard line of intensity
In your hand writen notes
Around the house
Even the grocery lists
And the way your hands shook
When you zipped my dress
I take it you are not shaken often
And the way you hang out
around the kitchen
While i sit on the counter
And look at you
I watch your lips when you speak
Wondering if that passion exsists
In your kiss
And wondering how often
I can sit on your bed
Without you laying me down
I wonder if you can read my eyes
Like story books.
I wonder if you know
I wonder if you know
I see you too...
And the way you look at me.

I should really stop
Writing poetry at 1:43
and fantasizing about pouring alcohol in my coffee
And fantasizing about making love to you
and fantasizing.

I should really stop
Spending too long online
and going to sleep 2 hours before my family wakes
and going to sleep (just to wake up a few hours later)
and not sleeping

I should really stop
reading Cummings late
and pouring over Byron late
and pouring over Burns late
and late night poetry readings

I should really stop
listening to death cab sleepy
and listening to brand new sleepy
and listening to la dispute sleepy
And listening to perfect lyrics sleepy

I should really stop
dreaming about love
and dreaming about those who don't love me
And dreaming about those who might love me
And dreaming about you loving me

I should really stop
but I cant seem to stop
any of it

Under the orange
street lights
it's 3am

Longing to find him,
she skulks alone
in the dark

And as London sleeps
her cries go unheard
by all but one