can't tell if it's the
cold air — or disengagement
that makes mornings hard

you only listen
when you hear the alcohol
talking — in anguish

I can explain the
concept of infinity
better than I can
comprehend the breadth and depth
of the space you keep for me

in the end it's not
the time difference but the
difference in us

your kind
of gorgeous
brings me
to my knees
so hard —
it shouldn't
be allowed

got so depressed in
the middle of changing sheets
I slept without one

you came to take your
stuff — you can take everything
just take me with you

getting rid of your
memories made new ones in
need of forgetting

how many mails left
on read are too many — to
consider stoping?

sarcasm demands
shared intimate history
for it to make sense

W,

When I talk about
my past lovers,
it's only with
the intention of
making you
jealous.

Love,
ML

some nights I wish you'd
just knock — it's not just my door
I'll let you in through

when people feel trapped
sometimes they're the prisoner
sometimes they're the cell

the sound of rain on
a moving train makes me wish
the trip was longer

what does it mean when
the time they used to give free—
ly, we beg for now?

infidelity
can be to one's own self for
choosing another
person's happiness over
being faithful to your own

let me
want your future —
   one that's
   certain and sturdy
and need your now —
   where we're
   calm and quiet

where waking up
   doesn't hurt
   anymore
   because it's
   no longer
   just
   a dream

slow mornings are for
taking his time to hold me
like a lazy cat

it started with his
voice — deep — then it was his eyes
when he smiled — honest

deep voice drew me in —
close enough to inhale his
secondhand stories

I can change the room
but every time you enter
all the noise softens

I chase with my eyes
what my hands cannot touch — I'm
left empty-handed

head raised to the sky —
in a way, praying you won't
stop what you're doing

the world's a tightrope —
I fear nothing when we're each
other's counterweight

the real sin is not
in two men in love but in
choosing to hate love

I have yet
to understand
what it's like
to have
had touched
and tasted fire —
raging

to have
had melted
from a warmth
given off
by a source
other than
my own

and to have
been molded
into the image
and likeness
of a space
I didn't
create

I have yet
to gain
the CONFIDENCE
to cast fire
that comes with
having had
tasted you

on my knees — in a
way, praying that you won't take
your hand off my nape

don't be surprised if
my heart is at the bottom
of a barrel of
flowers and pointy daggers
— mind the cuts as you reach down

of GRAVITATION —
I want you near just as much
as you want me close

I don't wish to be
where you're not — your absence has
embittered life there

is it because I
have yet to taste that I have
yet to
           understand

lying beside me
you're the sound of heavy snow—
storm in December
just the reason to stay put
curled up by a fire —
                                       your fire

if I end up
                   dead
to you,
             I hope you'll keep all
the green bones left at
the funeral pyre — show them
to me the next time we meet

enter through the same
door he walked out of — that is
how
          you find
                           my heart

when I say don't stop
I'm pleading more to myself
than I am to you

    don't stop giving in
   'til the shape of your back is
    the shape of his palms

   don't stop yielding up
    'til your secrets liquefy
   into his whiskey

   don't stop submitting
   'til you see the skin under
   his chin sleek and flushed

if you want to shut
me up, lock my lower lip
in-between your teeth

I keep wanting you
and aching afterward — yet
I keep
            coming
                           back

sun's hot, water's wet
— and skin was just skin until
I saw it on you

dip your long fingers
in me     — I'm a lake,
                                       deep,
                                                 dark
veiled,
            calm with desire

BLUE BIRD: if you can't
in one hundred and forty
characters, then don't

they say looks can ****
but why does mine want you stripped
warm — and on my bed

you ought to be hanged
for the way you stare — gold-framed
in a museum

I don't understand
how you can be more tempting
draped, than naked — you

you — standing still, strong
like David and Venus — un-
drape me already

skin — your skin — excites
the hell out of me like it's
fine art on the street

confession: I thought
the THREE-BODY PROBLEM was
an old ****** case

glorious rain — we
are a storm within these walls
made of two bodies

you make sense — like a
warm mug of matcha latte
on a rainy day
                      門

this crowded room is
a battlefield where we take
turns stealing glances

sometimes people choke
on something edible or
wild — like his secrets