I am a wooden floor
An ant under the table
Black speck
I am a second choice
Place holder
A paint swatch match
Just a little too blue.
I have become a tiger
Fierce teeth bared
Stripes up and down
And I love you
Even as you tell me
I am a wooden floor.

I seem to recall the details of emptiness
and the somethingness
defining it
the line where the nothing turns into something
the artery wall
the air and the ground
the spot where you found
the sadness in the joy
the pain in love
the pursuit of balance
the moment where details
don't matter anymore.

Time is an angel,
Decay, slow rotting
Love and vengeance plotting.

Girls drown in crowns,
whiskey, and tessellated tides
Sharp edge, triangle swords
Surrounding all sides.

Boys point arrows
Sharp, yet crooked
And fly from flower to flower
As a sparrow

All of everything ticks by
Into itself
Of itself
By itself

I often wish
to feel not as a dead fish
flipping and flopping
on your dashboard
on your sharp sword
on, around, between.

I often think
I feel a sense of this
which is really that,
lovely like the space
between the molecules of your face.

I often stare
to feel between the lines
swimming and swerving
When is "I'm tired"
"I'm tired"
and when is it "I'm tired of you."

It starts out specific
Pretty, far away, and perfect
Take one step forward
One to the left and one toward
The edge of feeling something
And everything
And nothing
All at the same time
Somehow
Somewhere
We became two vines. Ensnare
My heart
As shards of a light bulb
Hot hurts just as cold.

I run circles
Place to place
Face to face
With fear.
You're far and near
To where I just was
Pause
Think about what you're doing
Remember the sunset for viewing
Stewing and swimming in luck
Or the lack thereof
I look above
And ask for love.

You wanted a poem
About your heart
I see it there beneath
Thorns and broken parts
A rib cage
Pick locked
Replace with barb wire
Opened with the right
Twist of the tongue
The right inhale of the lung
But I am a fish
I breath blue
And don't feel air
I'm telling you
It's not fair