Dirt clings to the most beautiful things,
for a moment it shares the glory.
It clogs and it diminishes,
But for that moment, dirt is proud,
Because it is a part, holding to something larger.
Then the object is cleaned, purified, and purged. 
And dirt is just dirt. 
Man was made from dirt.

Love, last night you walked
Into my room and peeled off  your skin
For me, a sigh still clinging to your throat,
Waiting for the forceful
Expulsion of your exhale.

Peel it for me.

You hung your fears on my pleas,
Whispering the words I mouthed to you,
Mouthing them back onto me.
Lights off this is you
At your finest.

I love you, at your most nervous.

Last night you wrote on my skin
With your tongue, the words still cool
On my warm body.
Only the tips of your fingers remain,
Scrawling your name on my back as if you
Could tattoo the permanency of love with touch.

he'll try hard to not
            just to prove
                        he can

one day
i felt so connected to something i thought i had lost


i lost myself
in your hair


in your lips ******* away at my skin
until it fell off in your mouth

and i crumbled

to the floor

as all my innards fell out
of my skull


that was broken
down

by your soft
words

and hips

and kiss


and i could exhale


but i chose to breathe
you in

instead

I've heard it said that
to move on
is to grow,
but I disagree.
How can you grow if
you don't stop
sometime?
A tree doesn't run,
it stays.
Its roots
nurtured,
drawing strength
from its stationary
nature.
So I stopped
and I stayed
and I grew with you.
But then I figured out
that people aren't trees.