Somewhere in the lake
of deep sleep
is an island, dark and mysterious,
entangled mangroves here,  resist movements
where I snake in like a thief
excitedly breaking in to own house,
pretending to be an alien
and find
a body double living there
acting out one's secret-
fantasies and voluptuous desires.
I won't dare to speak aloud here,
where, the overpowering smell of
too ripe fruits of indecent passions waft.
The dark chamber,
the smoke filled ***** den of my mind,
is to  take secret refuge and be one
with a dream that flies me
to the border lands of psyche.

I slip into
a sweet change
in your room,
close the shades
so the light
barely comes in,
flickering
slightly
as the curtains
flow slowly
back and towards me.

I love the breeze
from your window.

I hold your hand
hoping this
is not just
some dream,

hoping
the coins
I tossed
in the fountain
made my
wish for you
finally come true.

But as your
soft hand
slowly slides
down the side
of my face
heading toward
my chest,
as I lose my breath
with excitement
and arousal,

You disappear.

My crusted eyes
flutter open
as I try to clear
reality.

Frustrated,
I try to fall
back asleep
so I can restart
that perfect dream scene,

but I am awake
and alone.

i'm am in every bar drinking
and watching, dancing naked; every eye
looking inward
at her dancing,
shedding clothes, drinking, watching,
flexing like a garbage bag full of me.


i laugh swinging like a garbage bag, dancing,
drowning in the overwhelming sound;
brought back suddenly by hundreds of cigarettes
and the clicking of a bike tire spinning free from the ground.
the way i spin clicks like a bike tire. we spin clicking.


you spin clicking.
you are the smell in the air of marijuana, the smell of a sneeze.
you board the train like slamming a beer
after a cool 5 hr shift and you watch


her crying on the max, chapped lips chewing her jacket,
rubbing her eyes. i rub my eyes and chew her with earbuds in.


with dark circles i catch him staring
but he doesn't mind, he's writing a poem on his phone.
so i don't mind, looking out over the river from the bridge.

i don’t think I found myself in the poetry, i think i am finding myself in your arms
under the gentle pressure of your fingertips and the velvet embrace of your words.
they think I found myself in the halls of the airport that it walked alone
but
i think i am finding myself in the kitchen of your flat, waiting for the kettle to come to a boil; in cups of tea nursed at the table and I hope that’s okay.
i sip in the same tentative manner that i reach for your hand in the dark; you may have the effervescent beauty of a tree in the autumn but right now i would like to lace my fingers with yours and be human together. i hope that’s okay.
you are like literature and myth; a deep and sprawling spectrum of contradictions and complexities. i feel like teiresias; blind and trapped within my own self-made cocoon of spiralling thoughts.
eyes closed i reach for your hand.
i almost miss my stop on the last train home spilling out sweet words about your everything.
her hair straight out of bed with soft eyes and parted lips, sculpted by aphrodite; carved from the finest marble i want her to pin me down,
to the bed, to reality-
her lips, to guide me
from her waist and back
to sanity. early in the morning
when she wakes up tangled in sheets
with her eyes peeking up over her phone,
soft smile on her lips.
the world stands still in the soft glow of flickering street lights like visible heartbeats, glowing and not glowing in tandem, and the windows are frosted along the edges; worrying a cracked lip between my front teeth i realise this may be the most I have ever thought about tea.
our fingers
tangle, grasp sheets or cheeks rosy
with first-kiss smiles. eyelids
crinkle.
you are butterflies in my stomach, fear and exhilaration, honesty and hope
you are
listening to the same song on repeat; your laugh is the song stuck in my head, every song i’ve ever loved,
the only song i want to listen to.

i pull my passion apart
until all my selves
are looking at each other bewildered
woozy in love with one another
and no energy to fight

i set each
up in a room to wait
together they get anxious

apart I grow anxious
in so many pieces
can’t each survive?

i walk into each room with a revolver
and only one bullet
i hand the gun to god
he puts it back in my hands and says
‘i am the bullet’

i pull the cord
a sputter and a spit

he
she
it
tells me,
let the grass grow under
your feet
pick no
weeds
let the leaves lie where
they fall
put a lounge chair
on the front lawn
sunbathe naked
(***** the neighbors)
throw the empty
beer cans
into the street
and when the cops come.
laugh.

pick a mountain
any mountain

climb up through
the ice and snow
and when
you get to the top
of the mountain

keep climbing

blue wash
watercolor sky
and cactus-covered
rolling hills on the horizon.

only going 50 in a 45
because we want to get
there quickly, but not
too quickly.

or maybe we're just
trying to keep up.