i once knew a boy who spoke of
rustling leaves as a euphemism for
supreme love; he told me that he could hear them
whispering, "come closer, yes,
i really mean you"

can you hear it? he asked,
can you hear it too?

i closed me eyes and tried to remember
the last time i had heard an invitation as subtle as
the ones that hid in the solace of
autumn's last breaths, and there it was
buried in the softness of your palms outstretched
to the stars (longing to hold hands with the heavens)

when i opened my eyes again, i found myself
face to face with the only truth i would ever
learn: that every thing i've ever
needed to know is hidden between that boy's
words, your curious fingers, and the orange rain
that falls in november.

i wish i could erase all the worlds you've
ever whispered into my ear,
but my blood runs thick with ink
instead of graphite and lead,
and my bones are heavy with every
syllable you ever spoke.

because it's like every time we're
in the same room, i can't
pull my eyes away from the curve
of your ears or the lines of your
knees or the way your veins are
permanently risen off the
back of your hands, like you're
always gripping something,
       you     just     don't    know    what

(it's overwhelming, knowing how
conveniently my hands would
fit into yours, so that you'd finally have
something to hold on to)

they told me happiness would
come, if only i'd look

                                     (but i am tired of searching
                                      only to find nothing)

i wonder when ghosts from
our pasts die,
do we feel them go
like we do the
living?

i keep my hands held close to my sides
for fear that if i dare stretch them too far
i may burn my fingers upon the edge of the stars--
       (i suppose the fear i know is just a side effect of
       having lost things i've loved far too long
       and loving things too lost to play along)

so like
i know this isn't the classiest way of doing things
and i apologize in advance for posting my proposal
on the bulletin board
of this skeezy coffee shop -
no offense to the owners
please don't throw this letter away -
but last week
you stole my bike

it was a great one
not shiny or fancy or anything, but it worked well for me
worked for the past four years
and the twenty years before that
when it was still my dad's
and he rode it to the post office every day to
help letters get where they belong
(maybe letters like this one, isn't that romantic
maybe he's guiding this
thanks dad, you're the best)
and passed it on when his knees froze up
and i rode it to this skeezy coffee shop every day -
sorry to the owners
(again)
but i buy your ****** lattes every day
least you can do is let me propose -
but then last week
i left it outside
and didn't lock it
(fate, see)
and you stole my bike

i think
you were probably walking by -
maybe about to come get a ****** latte
from this skeezy coffee shop
(sorry)
but then something caught your eye
i think you saw all the emotion invested in my bike.
two decades of getting letters where they belong.
four years of ****** lattes.
and well
who can resist so much meaning
spread out in the open for anyone to take?
and i mean
since you saw it there,
didn't just say 'oh'
'a bike'
like everyone else,
you were probably meant to have it.
it's a piece of my heart
(the bike i mean)
and now you have it

or maybe you just liked the color
and like
i do too
green is a great color

i like green
you like green
you wanna go out sometime

we could go on a bike ride
except
you stole my bike

anyway
i don't think the bulletins are supposed to be this long
but it's an important one
so maybe it's okay this time
so if you see someone with an old green bike
tell them i'm in the skeezy coffee shop
i'm the one drinking the ****** latte
and holding a jewelry box

Don't ever let people know
that you're attached to them.
Make it seem as if you could care less
whether they're in your life or not,
even though you really want nothing more
than for them to stay
forever.
Don't ever let people know
that you've cried for them--
over them.
They'll use it against you
and throw your biggest weakness
in your face
leaving you completely vulnerable
and raw
and broken
and crying.
Don't ever let people know you love them.
Trust me, they don't care.
Not one single bit.
Sure they might tell you that
they love you too,
and maybe they do.
For the time being.
But things change.
Feelings change.
People change.
All in a matter of seconds.
People only love you when it's convenient for them,
or when they have
no one better to love.
It's all a sick
twisted
game of chess.
Constantly trying to protect your king,
or in this case
your heart,
but your opponent is always
one
step
ahead

and you lose.


*~kns