I smile knowing that this isn't a dream.

I smile knowing that you are where I am and I am where you are, in the dark, under blankets, on a cloud that would have felt like nails if you weren't here.

But I smile knowing that my breath doesn't escape into the loneliness of my room, as it brushes against your neck – my kiss of air that pushes you closer into me.

And I'd whisper words like
"I love you"
And
"You are so beautiful"
that would glide across pillowcases into your ears. And if you aren't awake to hear them, I'd make sure to repeat them the first thing in the morning when you wake.

But for now, the silence competes with the crickets, your soft snores, and my even softer sighs of laughter, in disbelief that such an adorable situation has laid itself out right in front of me,  in my arms.

I have trouble falling asleep, because for the first time, my reality is much sweeter than any dream my mind can ever imagine.

Well, a month into the job
as local sheriff I needed an assistant
and so I advertised and got one interviewee
“What’s 1 plus 1?” I asked
“11,” came the swift reply

Well, I thought, that was creative,
and might be useful in the job
and so I said:
“What two days of the week start with T?”
“Today and Tomorrow,” was the reply

Well, maybe that’s how creative people are, I thought,
in this part of the country;
so I narrowed things to general knowledge:
“Who killed Abraham Lincoln?”

“Wow!” said the candidate, completely elated.
*“You mean I got the job
and you’re already putting me
on my first ****** case?’

It took only a single sip.

The steaming liquid that seeps in between my teeth,  minuscule in comparison to the exhausted memories that flood the back of my mind.

The heat that soaks on my lips, glacial compared to the warmth I felt on yours.

There will never be a replacement for the comfort delivered to me by your grasp.
My hands, my fingers, that once intertwined with your hands, your fingers, hold on to a porcelain cup of memories, significant only to me.

It took only a single sip to drown me in my past.

I am a UFO, An Undeniably Fallen Object.

I'd crash land into your back yard,
And if this ruckus fails to wake you up,

I'd already be armed, with an arm
ready to toss pebbles at your window
and a finger ready to press play on the boom box.
but it's all too cliché, to be throwing rocks,

at your glass panes,
so I'll create a master piece that wouldn't fit within any kind of art frame,
You'll read out your name,
On the moon once the dots are connected,

because anything seems easy, even punching in craters on a giant space rock, if the purpose behind the action outweighs any and all consequence,

And honestly, I'd do anything to put a smile on your face, ever since,
Ever since I first seen it.

It took my breath away, and it felt like I was falling head over heels,
And what I feel is that you're a gift from over head, and even to this day I still try to look for your halo.

But someday, I'd like to move that golden ring above your head into one that I can actually see on your left hand.

and it's too bright here in the City of Sin to ever catch a glimpse of a shooting star,
But by far,

You are my wish come true.

I can hear it
The whistle and rustle as air surrounds and fills the sacks of my lungs
I can feel it
The heavy tightness of my chest with every exhale
I reach in my pocket
"Shake" "shake"
"Puff" "puff"
A sudden relief of my lungs smooth muscles loosening
Dopamine fills my body
Sigh
I exhale and walk away happily daunting the next oncoming of an attack by its hazardous side effects

A fish out of water

I can see it.

The Skin encasing my heart, pulsating.

It races.

I struggle for air.

I'm no marathon runner – I'm a chronic smoker with half a lung, with a heart in a condition much worse.

I shut my eyes, in a faint attempt to attempt to faint and shut myself off from everything that I have ever laid my eyes on.

But I still feel it.

I press my finger tips against the skin encasing my heart.

And I wince at every beat.