I like how the air feels
when you are in the room
the atoms visibly assemble
as your soul and synapses
converge
the earthly and the ethereal
and I need it now,
the air you produce with your exhales
I need it on my skin,
through my pores
inside my ribcage
wisdom and innocence co-habit your face

you are pure running waters

raising humans above your head
like a homage to the gods
like the worship of cats in Egypt
your hands form a basin
to cradle my vulnerability
they safeguard the ethos of who I am
and exalt the who I want to be
you are inside of me
and together we are whole

I slashed his throat

Dreamt a madman me did attack,
With knife, he came upon me,
Enraged, engaged, I took his blade away,
Slashed his throat,
Watched his life
And mine,
Bleed away.

As she sponged my brow,
But a dream, hush,
But I knew better,
For the rage and the lust
Was primordial, a man's must,
His blood on my fingertips,
A secret  smile on my face.

August still catches in my head like that Manhattan melody
        when he was my little vial of Novocaine.
        when the moon showed her face and we slept on my floor
and our knees and hips and
shoulders—all the hinges of our bodies—washed with
a twilight of mauve and Bordeaux.
And one night he painted me with
two rows of clenched teeth—dipping in and out of white pools of Selene.
I have a bed now that he has left
        with sheets that billow on the right side,
        with real blankets that aren't hospital blankets.
And he is my little vial of Novocaine
that took a train to states away. And the miles
between have left me with a weight in my chest that I'm sure fell from
his suitcase. I've got
        bones made of buildings,
        and a metropolitan heart,
        and a steady smile
knowing this same moon hangs over him and that borough.

They say that those who have a darker and more crowded mind,
Have a better perspective of the world than those with normal minds.
It is the truth.
We see the devils behind the flesh,
The true nature of people behind the mask,
We can sense the lies and lack of faith
From a mile away.

Walking the streets while a whole network of emotions
Are pulsing through your head makes you see the world in a different light,
More enhanced senses.
We see the truth behind the smiles,
We feel the wrenching tension of the person next to us,
We hear the staccato heartbeat of someone trying to stay calm,
We can taste the fragility of words from a persons lips,
**We can smell fear.

By Wednesday
I’m ready to
         unhook
              unhinge
                    unfold.
Peel this pale skin
right off these overtaxed bones
& let my soul sip
on all of the thoughts
I scolded myself
for thinking
while I walked
across the company parking lot.

I’m sure she would tell you
that those sipped thoughts—
they taste like slow jazz.
They envelop the tongue
without permission
& casually uncoil into
all of the beautiful,
tasteless language
that is able to seamlessly
twist and bewitch.

I’m sure she would tell you
that anything
worth a sip
is forbidden,
as she cups her palms
& presses them to your lips.

“Have a drink,” she’ll say,
   “You need some color
                       in those cheeks.”