I write about you like street artists sketch strangers on subways. Using diction only found in the speech of brush strokes. Your water color eyes sink ships like sirens — and I was drowning, watching the kaleidoscopic surface give way to your naked abyss.

When I was 5
I got married to the girl down the street who’s name has been lost with time but daisy chain remains vivid. I remember holding hands, while playing pretend.

I’m still playing pretend.

Another day in paradise
Halos handed out like parking tickets
While prophets are corner store common
Heaven is only ever in moderation

Halos handed out like parking tickets
You can buy forbidden fruit half off
Heaven is only ever in moderation
The tallest building is never tall enough to jump off.

You can buy forbidden fruit half off here
Take a bite and put it back on the shelf
The tallest building is never tall enough to reach paradise
So I jumped and I fell.

Take a bite and put it back on the shelf there
Prophets stand outside corner stores
So I jumped and I fell

Another day in paradise.

We bit that apple baby,
And to see your naked body felt joyful,
not sinful.
Yet we are born sinners,
not lovers,
and for that,
I never understood.

Part of him — the part that confronts painful truths — was hemorrhaging. That night he felt the mass of her every word like crashing waves. He watched the world crack open, and planets collided, as stars died at the tip of her tongue. The pain he felt was what separated earth and heaven — while the love he lost separated hell and earth.
— —
Both lines were incomprehensibly fine.

I walked upon earth a man in all my incompleteness — My X-chromosome broken like Adam’s rib.
Create music, art, business, governments
She said — you will never create life.
So under my oppressive virility She remained, the apotheosis of creation —
A wildfire caught in a cage.

I waded into ineradicable waters. Turbulent, permeant, I baptized in your sexuality. Your curves as symbolic as the cross.

Chiseled as much
from spaces untouched
as the hammer’s strike
The statue cries out,
bound by it’s synthetic periphery.

The CEO walks across marble
Hanging his jacket
Lips press against either bottle or barrel,
Feeling is for the living.

Reborn in the duality of a miscarriage
Man grows old
Descending from woman’s womb stoic
His iron fists reach for mother’s ***.

Earth spins coddling paper thin virility
Her soiled hands constantly left to clean
The painter paints until easels break
Her brush dipped endlessly in vibrant sorrow.

Sometimes we have the flaw of seeing everyone else's.

Before you this world was flat, and I would walk back and forth, edge to edge, wondering if the fall off would hurt. There were days spent at waterfalls watching water pour into the black abyss, my feet dangling dangerously close to what I assumed was the end.

As it goes, the day we met you pushed me.

And as I turned hoping to grab onto anything that might stop the fall, you jumped, filling my arms, wrapping yours around me.

We fell into oblivion.

When you fall you forget about time. Engulfed by a moment alone in the cradle of gravity.

To fall for a lifetime is to forever live in a single moment.

And forever I have fallen for you.

Caught in the repetition of remembering you.

A house fire with no way out
but a second story window.