when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.

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10:03 P.M.
Notification: You have one unread message:
from Andrea

"i love you ♥"

10:03 P.M.
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Battery: 100%

I saw you. I fell in love.
A bit of a cliche,
but such is life.

Only I didn't really fall in love
when I saw you, it was gradual.
In terms of absence, that is, one day
I suddenly noticed you were not there
(I was able to distinguish  how empty
the world was without you in it).

This arrow flew a long time,
which only means that it hit
with grater strength.

You see, this is not love on a whim.
When I see you I don't think "I fell",
rather I flap my arms, taste the fear,
and think "Why the hell I don't stop falling?".

I'm so glad there's an ocean
Between you and me
Distance and dreams
Are all that can be

If you were next door
What there would be
Is the danger and drama
Of proximity

I tremble to think
Of the crevice and *****
On the slippery hills of
Love full of hope

Windermere, Jan 25 2016

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.