You tuck my hair behind my ear
I tuck that memory in my pocket

now my hair falls in my face
sight compromised
because you're not there

wet salty hair

My mother used to say
if you drop a frog in boiling water
he jumps out.
But if you set him in cool water and slowly up the temp,
he'll adjust until he’s boiling.

Well I’ll tell ya,
it sure is hot in here.
Here,
this *** in which I sit, sweating,
regretting

Boiling over with little atrocities.
A belittling comment here.
A joke at my expense peppered in there.
Red flags bubbling to the surface.

If I had just paid attention to the temp.
If I had turned 180 degrees
to look at the settings and see
that I was sitting in 212,
I would have yelled,
Let me out!

Little did I know
that a little turns into a lot.
That more often than not,
they will not change.
They will just alter their already
steady hand
As they slowly
Up the temp.

it’s two same ends of magnets
trying so hard to meet
to click
we get so close but life and fate
chuckle at the polar opposition

I wish time would slow down
let me catch up

scrolling through old snapshots
dated still lifes
of once quite
present moments

gifts of time
when I gazed towards the future
and assessed
“will I want to savor and long for this later?
yes

yes
how I long
lust and savor
the source of my current reflections
within these lines

Memories. Moments. Minutes.
a collaboration, congregation
coagulated confines
of precious compartmented time

still
I am separated from particular points of potential paradise
indefinitely

her
everywhere
in the faces of television
a shadow cloaked behind
the once bright memories of us
settled stark
dark

like when your lids
shut
vision no longer viable
a quick closing of reality

the reality is
in a world of forgetfulness
or real time
she’s there

so then
will she too come to learn
the pain
of not having all of you
the ever-present existence
that you don’t possess the ability
to know yourself without someone else

will she too
entertain nights of
becoming vacant
numb

will she too
outlive you