i do this thing where i stay quiet
for too long
sometimes i feel i ruin things
like a garden
i touch that starts to wither away
or an ornate jar
shatters to irreparable pieces
like a wound
that keeps reopening and all
the doors in my
life keep closing, so i leave my feelings
on the low key side of things

i guess i still miss you
but talking’s for functioning people
when we stand stark
at the vertices of our dog days
we don’t say anything at all
in uncharted autumn
we still have a little sun left
trying to make sense
of the irregularities that compact
this relationship
into tiny little boxes we check
every once and awhile
ostentatiously

my morning muse comes doused in drowsy eyelash
a soft spot in the heart of the bed
tattoos threaded in skin I've traveled often in lamplight
on tundra nights, drunken hands with too much to say
soberly sobbing with good intentions
truth swap in the tether of tongue touching
opulent limbs, an ode to you
swiftly I want to say
I've compared others to the hallowed moon
a sunset without an end
but you, the enthusiast to my affection
are a morsel of cold water after ***
the lush terror of a first kiss
a delectable fight of a god against his demons
my zest, my fever
the patient savoring of my exquisite savior
there is a violence to love something
to indulge in a deluge of tenderness
for you
my favorite friend
my sympathetic lap of luxury
this body of roses would like to confess
that it no longer feels empty between the ribcage
that the songs too sad to listen to before
fill me with a quietude of laughter
I used to think love poems were frivolities for the mediocre
but now I understand
this is a love poem

silk blouses and cotton underwear
the nights merge into a sticky soup that falls into the pocket of a sweater i was wearing when they said that death is permanent
the voice echoing into the receiver of my first cell phone
the wavering tremble of someone in the middle of realms
sleep and consciousness turning the other side of the pillow
wondering if the smoke in my lungs felt comfortable
wonder if the moon sinks lower into your backyard
i was never good at distinguishing shadows and when i found myself on the dark side of the mattress;
my feet cold and feeble i wondered if you could hear my heart a thousand miles away
the fluttering of a drowsy bird, lethargically dragging it's clumsy wings into the plummeting stifle of open air
you said my lips were like the halves of a plum
i bit them until they bled but it was never as sweet
it was never as sweet

there is a wasteland
the abdomen of a swollen sea watching precariously as i bite into bits of dark chocolate and don't stop until the entire package is on the floor like a drunken dancer or a torn best friend
a candor that i sold auspiciously for a pair of high heels that i never wear, they just sit in my closet waiting for dirt to be pushed into the canvas of it's sole
i'll only wear them indoors when it's raining and i can hear the synchronizing of the drops on the roof top with each step i take onto the hard-wood floor -tap tap tap tap
i'll do this until the sincerity is gone from the momentum
eventually next summer they'll be forgotten in a cardboard box that has "free" written with a red sharpie and perhaps it's next owner will be forgiving, will take the loneliness of the esoteric feeling of wanting to be worn and introduce them to the vinyl floors of a cheap club or the cold linoleum floors of an expensive resort hotel
i'd like for things that I've known to have a continued story even after it's out of mine, and they do

there is a wasteland
a woman that constantly licks her lips because they're dry but they're only dry because of the constant moisture forced upon them
the reduction of catch-22 as if the joke doesn't fall smack into your clothes
trying to find something underneath the bra strap, past the skin
but you can never get through, can you?
she pulls your hand away and you're left feeling rudimentary
lacking, like the lackadaisical manner in which the lights never hit you the way you wish it did

got to eat them as they darken
reddened ruby to black constant opal
berries will rot quickly if you don’t
or they’ll taste real gooey and wierdy
if you let the drupelets’ colors get
unsynchronized like summer and fall

...why am i telling you this?
because i learned that the hard way
and the days go away in the gleam
heavy showers and peak-a-boo sun
the east barely bracing for the storm
and the sweetness decaying like the leaves

so tightens the end of september
like a noose, rained for weeks straight
and i’m doing whatever feels right

you run your fingers thru my hair
and i’m embarrassed, don’t know
how to tell you how i feel

want to run away into the night
with you, want to drink again
and fight the system, its every discoloration

so each day goes
forgetting what brings the glitter
back in my eyes, smiles fading for no reason

on the state border in your wagon
thinking too much about
the future even though we’re just pretend
and this is the last time i’ll see you

illuminating my inability
to tell my own character
and trying to empathize with
your own despite us

being just pretend and our organs
are more than cotton, fabricated
hearts and both using each other
even though we’re unimportant and fake

sometimes i think about you
other times you worm yourself
back inside my dreams like a solicitor
strain to hear your voice

i'm striking attitudes with you as the sun sets
of course, young and stupid
can't really hide my emotions
at all when i'm around you

we're always together where
i last spoke to you before; at that **** park
i don't go to anymore because memories hurt
since you killed yourself, aren't we always depressed

speak to me your secrets and the signs
i've always failed to see
give me all your wisdoms
and the sense of urgency in your voice
before i wake up broken from the dreams
stuff that melts my heart into wax
voice to a whimper
bones like water
body empty
and thoughts missing you
but running forever

kooky, kooky llamas and duckies
frank ocean and kanye westy
in your car, rain pouring on our gucci
escape into your house, but feeling weird

like we're gonna do something
wrings the self and our hair of water
like our mangled garments
you play destiny 2 and i read poetry

not one hundred emoji on that chief
what we're supposed to be or do today
on our day off, write about nothing
and realize that's how it's supposed to be