It's too early to say this, but I miss you dearly in these lonely midnight moments. You bring the most poetic feelings out in me.

Last night I said give me three. You gave me two more. It meant the world to me. This morning when the sleep was still hiding in the corner of our eyes, we counted, but only got to one, then had to leave. When we arrived again, the meter running; we tossed and turned. I felt the nape of your neck against me and mistook your blood pumping for your heart beat. You stood in the doorway, your glasses foggy. Tomorrow you'll give into me. Until then I'll try and come up with something important to say, something besides "I'm sorry" I'll try and tell you five things. But for now, all that's coming to mind is today, and I'm only counting three. You are really.... I know this may not be anything.... but at least in some way, we belong to one another. In this moment, that moves too quickly.  I fell asleep just after one thirty and dreamt of you as I often do. In this dream, you had a new name. But mine stayed the same. When I woke, I was afraid I would be late. But my body ached for you, for four. For tomorrow & the next day and however long you want me. Please say you still want me. Not just my body. I hope you were kidding. I promise, you mean so much more to me.

The gun, gone now.
Empty.
Years now.
The lot behind fences.
Each September in the basement.
On my knees.
A man in the morning.
I flew.
Used.
WARNING.
Only the still outside met the ground.
Why?
I can't tell you.

You’re on it.
I fall right into you.
I think you know.
When you say:
“I wish I would have met you yesterday”
I spoke to a man with crooked teeth this morning.
Tapped my foot.
Craved something.
Nothing less.
(I think I made you up inside my head)
My constant need means beauty.
It pours from me and spills onto you like red wine.
I can smell it on your breath.
I look around the room and in each small thing, the root of a tree.
I feel the branches wrap around me.
“No matter what happens tonight”
I can taste the green.
It defines us.
It gives us a name.
Two bodies.
Separated but occasionally they meet.
To you: It’s everything.
To him: few and far between.
Me: I can’t decide.
Screaming: “Everything is grey. Everything will bleed!”