rarely, i feel on top of the world
most times times i am... on the bottom of the world?
i am... under the weather. blue. uh. having a bad time

sometimes i swear i could climb a mountain because why not? im already pretty up there.
when other times, i can barely manage to plant my feet firmly on the ground for long enough to say that i got out of bed that day.

there are highs and lows, but usually i am just grey.
regardless of what kind of day or hour or minute it is... i am alive

and no matter the altitude

the feeling is all the same

meh

from holding on so **** tight

I am

You are my sun
my light
my greatest adventure

in the fourth hour
of the early morning
my wakefulness
is met with your sleepy stillness

your lips, puffy and pink
dimly illuminated by the
lights of the city,
creeping through our window,
unapologetic.

your eyes create crescent moons
your cheeks, gentle mountains
your unkempt hair
spilling over your pillow
wild and free

you are a work of art

i extend my hand to meet your face
allowing myself to indulge in
the warmth of you
stroking your cheeks
running my fingers through your hair

in your ambit,
the passage of time
is no affliction

it is a gift. it is heaven. it is everything. there couldn’t possibly be enough, time.

enough time.
enough time for you, for me, for us

enough time.
to touch your face,
to watch you as you sleep,
to hold your shaking hands,
to miss you even when you’re not far
to call you on a long drive

to sit together in the stale cool air of autumn

to sit together

in pain
in laughter
in sorrow
in  joy
in uncertainty
in forgiving
in understanding




in love.

your ***** is divine
i want to drown in your waters
i want to be crushed by the pressure
of your depths

there’s a certain peace
that comes with our noisy little apartment
west of the city, still within its bounds

a chirping bird, the bell of the trolley
a siren wailing in the distance

wind rustles through the leaves of the shingle oak outside our bedroom window
brown and crisp, they’ll likely hold on till spring

light peers through our window, facing  east
illuminating the plant that was carefully placed there
every day, waiting, for its moment in the sun

I turn to face you.
you’re heavy and warm
lips pursed ever so slightly in your slumber

stirring
as our little cat tip toes
around your head,
looking for a place to settle in

I lean my weight into you
and I am met with the warmth of your touch
molding my body to fit the shape of yours
as you indulge in your Saturday slumber

the trolley screeches against the tracks
as the bird continues to sing it’s tune
my cat finds herself settled at my feet
and I, entangled in you.

maybe it’s the societal overload of dopamine  
that make moments of stillness so stale, so dry, so unbearably empty
like a clap and an echo in a hollow auditorium
shouting into the void, met only with a reflection of me

Longing for connection
Hand pressed against a pane of glass
ear pressed against a corded phone
in this prison of my own creation