How do you expect me sleep
With you circling every thought.

Like the leaves of autumn,
You're everywhere I walk.

And stepping on these leaves of yours
Produces my favorite sound.

Tonight that sound is too loud to sleep through.

I feel like I could kiss you,
And my lips wouldn't feel like ice or mercury or death. Rather...

Warmth.
Not the kind of warmth you feel with a new pair of wool socks.

The kind of warmth you feel when your 6 foot 6 football-playing-friend embraces you like a lovable toothpick after his workout.
Where the sweat drips on your cheeks and forehead, and your legs lift off the ground and you know he truly loves you as a friend.

It's more that kind of love.
But still not quite.



The kind of warmth you feel when everyone is asleep and you're sitting in the darkness alone, dozens of miles from settlement, and you've kept the campfire going. The sun is starting to rise, you can see the blue in the sky. The heavy blanket around your body has protected you from the piercing cold. And you hear that zipper of the tent come undone and you see the white of a smile.

That kind of warmth.

I asked the birds
    What's it like to fly
They abruptly replied
    *What's it like to drive

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.