Ochre on her fair skin.
The twilight sun paints her smile in idealistic hues
as we walk away from the music, from the grass,
from our spot in the shadow of a tree.
Hands held, still swinging and swaying
with the receding bassline.

I get caught up sometimes,
I get busy
over thinking.
I don't like that part of myself.

There's times where
I can't provide
a passionate
hard ****
for her,
and
I feel
like a
lesser man
in those moments.
Trapped in my mind,
hoping that she'll still like me
even though I can't seem to get it up.

There's also times where
I know it doesn't matter,
where all that matters
is falling asleep all
tangled up together.

Times where
all that matters
is a setting sun
after a day
of laughter.
A day of dancing,
and music,
and loved ones.

Beautiful days, dappled with love yet
not always bookended with
glorious raw ***.

Those days count too,
don't they?

I hope so.


I like her.

My phone's charging port broke,
maybe.... jeez, I don't know.
Maybe, five or six months ago?
Since then I've been restricted
to only using wireless chargers.
At work I need my GPS often,
and so my phone doesn't die
I keep a wireless charger
rubber banded
to the back of my phone...

...anyway...

I took Emily's headband
and threw it out,
it was hanging in the bathroom
for awhile.

I took Alyssa's painting
off the wall.

I threw that out too.


Found a hairtie
on the closet doorknob
and I went to go toss it,
but my phone was dead
and I didn't have a
rubber band
to keep my wireless charger
on the back of my phone
during my car trip to work.

So I used the hair tie.

I don't remember who's it was, but
Sara got in my car and saw it sitting there.

Stupid. Inconsiderate.
I try clearing all the leftover ****
out of my life,
and only end up
drawing attention to it.

Long live the life of unread books,
the life of collections and trinkets.
Perpendicular to how it should've been.
Parallel with everyone's honest expectations.

Forever glean nothing, but appear learned.
Forever clean, something is clearly earned
by this claim so staked in naked dirt,
dirt comprised of crumbled aspirations
and so many pettily wasted tomorrows.

So,
so many.

Men that won't eat *****
are just ******* in disguise.

I keep biding my time
and biting my tongue.

When is it enough?
How long do I wait to say it?

The temperature is turned too hot, but,
it feels good for now.
I lean my face into the falling water
and let it just douse my entire world.
I start soaping myself up and,
with a subtle pang of regret,
I wash her scent from my beard.

I hear the door click open.
I smile before she pulls the curtain aside,
she's naked and climbing in with me.
I smile and pull her in, pressing myself
up against her and kissing her cheek, her neck.
I smile with the memories of how
my beard picked up her scent last night.
The brief pang of regret from earlier
is gone as I imagine doing it all over again.
I smile as our foreheads press together
and our soapy bodies slip against each other.

I smile.
She smiles back.

I wash her back.
She washes mine.