i follow your
footsteps
back to the
place
where we go
to be alone
(together)

your imprints
dwarf mine
you make me feel
so small
in the best
possible
way

we sit
on the patch
we've claimed
as our own
and recount
the same stories
again

(we laugh
harder
than the
first time
we heard
them
even though
i could
recite yours
as my own)

we sit
with no space
between us
(our calveskneesthighs
hipsfingerselbowsshoulders)
blending together
in a melting ***
of summer
(springwinterfall)
love

the lake ripples
gently
our souls ebb
& flow
with the pull
of the moon
light
over our heads

(i'm oh so very happy
to be entwined entirely
around
your wonderful
wonderful
wonderful
finger)

now, tell me that story again

you are my
favorite
book
to read

never too far
from me
in the day
and always
by my side
at night

your pages
may be
wrinkled
and worn
but the most
ripped, torn, tattered
page
is my favorite part

i could fix these dings
(it would take just a little love&care;&tap;;)
but the integrity of your words
would be altered
in the worst way

these pages are the ones
i peruse in the darkest
corners of my room
the lines that are most imprinted
in the folds of my brain

no sequel could ever compare

why is it
that someone
must die
before we
become
patriotic

newtown
aurora
boston
nyc

we take
our fellow
citizens
for granted
until they
shed
their
innocent
blood

only then
do we
unite

i know
i am guilty
of this
myself

(so many people
gone
and i never
even got
to say
hello)

we pull
our sheets
up over
our head
and pray to
our gods
(the media)
and cling
to each other

oh,
what a tragedy
what
a
tragedy

god bless the dead children
(and america, if you get a chance)