There is little I wouldn't do.
For

falling asleep
with your scent as my blanket
your chest my pillow
and your breathing my lullaby

Yes.
There is little I wouldn't do.

there was an old building
wooden and decrepit
filled with secrets that the children
traded in.

now it's smoothed over.
casted concrete or something similar.
it's the ghost of a house that's gone.
it's eerie how it's inviting.
It's eerie how it's inviting.
but now it's missing.

"can we pretend that this never happened? can we pretend that the photo's on my phone, the pictures on the wall, the poems in my book the endless number of calls, the days out, the days in, the days somewhere inbetween, the nights, the lessons taught, the stories told and retold, till we both know them better than the back of our hands that touched when we didn't want them too, but i did, i did, i did."

tear it out cleanly.
it can heal i can deal with the scars i'm not afraid anymore
but i can't sustain this.
do not resuscitate me.

do not hold
hands that do not fear
losing yours.

You are poetry spoken in tongues.**
I do not know how to understand you
I do not know if I'd like too
I'd love the sounds all the same;
regardless if
the meaning escapes me.

sea scalded lips
cracked like shoals
yet smooth surfaced
moistened by coral tongue
locked behind bone reefs
but to be blessed by those waters
to be swallowed by maelstrom kiss.

i shouldn't have
expected anything less;
deluding myself
is what i do best.

78 cards
to lay out before me.
i am not a superstitious person
but what other avenue is available?
to have something solid
to cling to
is better than free-falling.
tarot roots
please grow from me
and blossom into something
tangible.

you appreciate:
....distance...
more than I'd planned.
so how do I communicate
a need:
....to hold your hand....
                                         ?

i taste like smoothed out stones.
washed over and over again
made shiny by dew and pressure.

i taste like snow covered tree's.
smothered by an icy blanket
but still rough to the touch.

i taste like sparks leaping from anvils
burnt out beauty
smoldering smoke.

i taste like home.
but
i do not know if

i want to taste like you.

out into an abyss
finding fingers in the dark
to curl around my thoughts
and leave an impression.

it's not finding a hand to hold
or to sweep out the mist.
it's to find shelter from the cold
and lips you once kissed.

when the kisses turn to bites
and the mirror reflects his love
more than you-
"DONT BELIEVE IN ACCIDENTS!"
-think about the times where tenderness was supplanted by need
by want-
"WILL IT BE SATISFIED?"
-or perhaps how you never get looked in the eye-
**"I need you."

Even if i bleed a little;
at least I'll taste something we share.

pack up your clothes
remove your scent
this bed can be remade
this heart will be unbent

6am mornings
With little to truly say,
so let's lie here waiting
For the sun to slip away.

-The sea does not roar out of grief; it just longs to be whole-

Sit down. Please.
You know who finite we are?
Of course you do.
we can all taste it at the back of our throats*
And too many times I have wished to taste it for you;
but you always said that was your burden to bear.
You Liar.

Sometimes I think I am the Sea:
splintered apart, drifting
aimlessly.

It's been an honour to break in front of you silently again and again but I've started to think that maybe it's lost it's intended effect-I mean you can only watch someone pick up the broken pieces and promise  it'll never feel hurt again just to crush them in palms that will never hold another's hand and feel them squeeze back without the blood slipping them just out of reach but not really-

a couple of times.
then it just seems desperate.

this is a small mercy.
to sit in darkened rooms,
plugged into a sad song
clutching at concerns midst a haze of distraction

waiting

for You to pierce it.

tear right through the walls
the pillows
the headphones
straight to the skull.

this is a small mercy.
the only one left.
so I wait.

-bitten love;
tasting someone else
just to spit them
out.

It's cold and warm but neither really wants to connect which is understandable really who wants to give 100%
so go back and forwards it's rocking horse hopes and flag posted dreams fluttering in the grey breeze named
"Memory."
it's not forgetting to remember,
it's about remembering to **forget.

Once, twice, three times too many.
Sounds and shapes controlling the contrary.
Darkness, blackened abyssal, all of the above- Tricks and deception-
the leaving of love.
Lusting after loosing;
To find courage after fear..
Wishing and wanting those who once were dear.
Of course you'll find
your heart in pieces,
Not just one's two's or threes.
You'll find that a soul simply shatters
in a muted ambiguity.

"But no."
The Sun said to the Sea.
"We cannot be close,
You cannot accept me."

"Why?!"
The Sea simply roared.
"I only reflect you,
and so my love is assured!"

"Fine."
The Sun said; and so down it came.
evaporating the Sea.
"Now we will never be the same."

Is this what love is?
Red marks and lines,
puncture points, hands never being held.

Is this what love is?
21:00 chuck out time sitting with Dusk on welcome mats
ringing a doorbell unsure if it's heard
or just ignored

Is this what love is?
Mirrors are mouths, speaking after-images into words
This isn't what love is.
or perhaps this love was made just for me
*Alone.

what was once Ivory
has now returned to granite
BOTH WE LIE, IN THE EARTH,
yet i.. i am still tortured with breath, with sight.

there is no need of voice.
i will hang on the farewell as it is a rope from Troy around my neck.
lull me down with you please, please, please. i am nothing but that.
there is nothing more to be said.

HOW DO YOU LIVE WHEN WHAT MADE YOU YOU IS DEAD?
(sleep in the wheat, i will be there soon.)
you find the quickest way to them instead.
                                                        ­          
                                 i am not sorry.

scar tissue
beating within my chest;
let you never know healing,
let you never know rest.

scar tissue
tapping to a one-two-one-two-time;
you know it'll never be right,
you know it'll never be fine.

scar tissue
that was once called a heart:
we can't stop the bleeding
we can't restart.

the sun does no more
In your presence.
it is otherwise useless.
the heat of your lips
the warmth of your body
the rays from your eyes
that hold me tight.
Just
set fire to my skin.

let me burn in your sight.

disconnect me- rip out these wires needlessly transmitting data points of zero's and one's, linking up in a systematic corruption of who i am and who i want, mechanical neurons lighting fires in my heart and brain, pulsing until they burn out into ashes and dust just another singed electronic unfeeling part of me that will only result in catastrophic system failure.
and i can't switch off.
its the only warmth i know will stay.
its the only warmth i ever get around me.