wrote your name in the sand
watched the waves wash
and take it,

so,

i wrote your name
and all my fears
at the bottom
of a bottle of jack,

I found them every night.

You're in every
Decision i make,
you're in every
sip i take.

autumnal leaves scent your hair
weaving the reverie of stranger summers
of smoke and arboreal decay
bone-fingers, ceramic mug
shivering *** under the wool
   these septembers bewitch me,
   their wincing smile-
   how good it is
   to feel so sad.

I swim through your eyes,
get lost in your mind;
it's so beautiful here.

i could watch your life grow
forever and never get bored
with your way of processing
even the simplest things.

i dive deeper
and fall into the warmth
of your heart, but
i feel its so fragile,
corners stitched together;
makeshift medicine
against lost loves
and fatigue from the world
that treated you so badly,
i brush my fingertips
over the blackening spots
hoping to take
your sadness away.


i fell in love
with the butterflies
living in your belly,
their colours adding
to your beauty.

My eyes open slowly,
and to just trace your lips
with the tip of my finger
would be safety for me
and all these tears would
dry.

I awaken
to only realize
i am alone once again,
needing you here.

october mornings
in a cafe in france
early morning tea
sitting on the street as
the early morning mist
kisses our feet.

beat as a heart should

                  Heart never understood
the motion of Her words ‘cross page
and page

and
infinite
as th’ Atlantic
kindness flies through space;
abandoned.
when He left
She clung
                   to the blood.

beat as a heart should
    
                  Heart never understood
the penmanship,
or heartbreak                       as a muse.

pursuit came to an end,

                  relinquishing  Her pen;
does beating Heart
                    demand the sight to feel?

I hop into a bed most nights,


                         most nights I take my ******* off and if I’m lucky then there’s something soft like a blanket knit by my grandmother’s hand or sometimes the boorish **** of a man, it’s all the same;

something soft to soothe my soul at night.

sometimes I paint my lips the scarlet of a harlot so that my smirk will weaken someone at the knees,
                         I only hope; and to get into my bed at night they need only say please, brush my dissipated face
with their disappointed fingers
and then whisper you could be so beautiful… and the loneliness consumes me,
then it begins to confuse me
and I could hide in here for days simply staring at a picture,
or I could drink it all away with a girl and then I’d kiss her

    but it’s all the same escape; I’m just trying to soothe my soul with something soft tonight.