I'm not
looking for comfort
but it's also no
coincidence
that every time
someone dies I find
myself wrapped
in a new boy's arms.
Like
maybe
this one
can catch lightning
in a bottle or
make my pulse mimic
thunder
again.
Like
maybe
this time
his heat on my skin
will
sear the
vacancy inside me
shut.

Did not know who you were
Your name or your birthday
Voice of yours was all i heard
We dint even spend a day
Three hours of chatting
Two hours of play
One hour of clarity
And another hour of day,
Lips smelling like cigarettes 
Body so husky and light
In an aura of musk
Bodies touching like night 
Stars kissing the sky
I heard your voice
You felt mine
I touched your heart
You blew my mind
We saw light coming in
Through the curtains
It was night yesterday
Today everything's uncertain
Maybe it was new
So it attracted me
Maybe it was me
That attracted you
Like a cannibal
We ate up our sorrows
Into a shadow of lustre
And no tomorrow
What happened this time
I cheated perhaps
It was one time thing
Its time to relax
Maybe I forgot how much someone loves me
Maybe it was infatuation that caught me
Love or lust
It no longer matters
As my thoughts include 
You as all that matters
Lust for you
Maybe love for me
But these 6 hours were
Enough for me
One night of regret
One day of lust
One time of sorrow
One game of mistrust
Maybe I am sorry
Maybe it was meant
A six day love story 
That never came to an end..

When waves of sadness washed over me
And began to pull me under
You taught me how to swim.

You asked me what I want
But how do you mean?

Like a wish?
Because it's always been a dream of mine
to fly with my own wings
or to control time
so that maybe I'd get enough sleep
and I could draw out the memorable moments until I'm sick of them
and then
maybe
sometimes when I need a break I could just stop everything
and focus on the serene silence of a world frozen in place

But does this wish have to obey the rules of this reality?
because if that were the case
then I could wish for the attention of that one boy
the one with the electricity in his fingertips
and that might temporarily please me

Or I could wish myself convenience
I could wish that my hoodie strings never crept uneven
I could wish that my nails stayed short and neat
so I didn't have to cut them
I could even wish that I knew everything there was to know

Or I could wish for something to better the world
I could wish that natural disasters were a myth
I could wish that 'pretty' didn't mean anything more than the empty breath of air and intangible vibrations that it actually is
That it didn't have any more impact than 6 letters of graphite should

Or I could wish for something to better myself
I could wish for better handwriting
so maybe I can convince myself that my words are worth the paper they stain
Or I could wish for endurance
Or effortless conversation skills
Or pristine work ethic-
something I can use to my advantage in the future to ensure success.

Or I could just wish for success.
I could wish for the job of my dreams
endless money
the perfect family
but where's the fun in that?

I could even use my wish to help someone else
cure someone of their terminal cancer
Hell-
I could wish up a cure for cancer!

I could wish that mosquitoes didn't exist
or that I had a photographic memory
or that I lived somewhere I could wear flip flops in January
or that I would never age, never feel pain
I could wish for an A on my next science test
or that poverty inversely reflect humanity

But you know what I think?
I think it's human nature to feel discontent
and I think
that's vital
to the evolution of the human race

I think that we need it
to continue
to grow
and better ourselves

So what do I want?
What's my one wish?

I wish that I could believe in the magic of the stars peeking through tonight's sky

Three striped cats daily demonstrate awakening:

a) BijaChen: startles by pounce onto bed or banging of sunlit window blinds;
b) BlueMonsoon: prefers annoying whining coordinated with scratching at blankets;
c) LadyFiona: chooses a prickly psychic stare into my sleeping consciousness to disrupt dreams. (she must have been a witch's cat).

Sleep you say?

Mr. Rooster, lover of Flathead Lake cherries,
rehearses a  solo operetta while strutting sharp grey claws inches from the screen door.

Doze off?

Thirty small brown-red-yellow-speckled birds usurp seeds at the swinging feeders in frenzied unharmonious clatter,

While the low moan of iron hinged gate closes pale hay and tall horses into the corral.

Rest?

Urgently a  growling lawn mower slashes green strands of life and delicate insects from their microcosms of Little Earth,

And calico barn cats dive from rafters onto feed sacks to devour the crunch of breakfast.

Lao Tzu speaks no sound, eyes watch

Two butterflies sweep though moist morning monsoon air.