We picked the seashells on the shore,
You hear them whisper in your ears,
I always love to hear you share what they speak,
Their words with different voices,
I always thought you just pretend,
So I pretended to understand,
Now you are far
Beyond the horizon that we see
Whenever we watch the sun wake and sleep,
I picked a seashell on the shore
And hear it whisper in my ear,
I hear your voice saying I love you.

Words surge
Vulgarity stutters
What's that again?
OH!! You shuttered

Shut down voices
Disagree in thought
Stop in your tracks
Facts are not sought

Facebook, Twitter
Social media sites
Opinions are all quenched
Control is such a might

The Storm is coming
So I was told
Stand up strong
Always be bold

sometimes unsure just where the
            world spun: sharpness of
                    hour's turn, cardinal
direction. we found footsteps on
coasts, in leaf-litter, amongst
carpet fibre. our collective history
       in flecks; discretised, normal.
ain't so strange, windowlit dust's
      width your warmth felt, even
at metric distance. we were once
but a single heartbeat across:
    wavelet, hangin' in the wash.

   i want to fall asleep in
covers of snow, you and i
as tangled pile of bones. i want
our echoes intertwined in all
great halls. or
just
   one
          slow morning,
                       fog or no fog.

                                                       the world will spin under dark blankets
                                                             for all of our evers, at least. tumble n
                                                                                                                      fade.

I admire you deeply
every note, every sound.
I have never been in love
simply just loved,
I don't know
what it feels like
to be in love
but I feel like I'm all too
familiar to the feeling
every time I put on my headphones.

Will baring my emotions though my poetry ever be enough?
Is it ever enough to wear my heart on my sleeve?
Are my emotions ever enough for anyone?

Some people are
the poets
who fall in love
with every shadow
on the wall
and every flicker
of a tiny
burning
flare

Some people are
the poets
who drink coffee
dark as pitch
and they press
their candied lips
against the
armor of a pen
who translates
tales

And some people are
the sparks
the light against
the ocean
the little bit of air
that blows the flame
into existence
when I blow it
out again
because I always
blow it out again
and need
the gesture
of
your soul
to light the
fire that
raves in
me.

Empty pizza boxes, and green
Couch cushions
Chapped lips and sunburns
Staying inside because your air conditioning
Actually works

The ice rink that’s always cold, but you
Wear short sleeves anyway
Kissing you between sips
Of hot chocolate, kissing you
Between people cheering
And crowded stands and pucks in nets
And spilt popcorn

The time we broke up
And you cut off all your hair

I bought you a Boston Red Sox hat, so that
You’d remember our city and cover your scalp
While your hair slowly grew back

That night I was drunk
And stained your shirt sleeve with makeup
You never thought the shaking would stop,
I blamed the *****

Corsages and suit coats, tightening your
Tie to match the dress, which took
Months for me to pick out
You never got to unzip it

The morning after, packing up
At 7am because the house was
Too full and my stomach was
Empty

Crossing my arms in the passenger seat
And mumbling that maybe
We needed time apart

Only to come barreling back together, like
Lighting a matchstick
And kissing to relieve the casualties

The time I lost my breath
But found it in your arms
“you’re okay, I'm here… I'll always be here”
And just knowing, just knowing, just
Knowing.

That night in the backseat
When it felt like the first time with you
All over again, the wheels clicked inside the motor
everything fell apart, the world stood still
And then everything fell back together

While going through the trash, sorting plastic
Organizing bottles and classifying cans
I told my mother we had 10 days left
And my tears dripped into the recycling bin

Dreaming about losing you to a plane ticket
And pushing your number at 3am
Because I only have 12,960 minutes left, to hear
The heartbeat through your shirt