I like handwritten letters
And old paper back books
I like walks downtown past old buildings
With peeling paint and cracked side walks
I like old sneakers with holes in them
And soles that scrape the ground when you walk
I like things with stories to tell

I like to meet people and talk about minimal things
Things that won't matter to anyone else
The things that cause their eyes to sparkle
And make a smile tug at their lips
I like to listen to their opinions
The things they feel such passion for

Yet I do not like to stick around
Never do I get close enough to touch
No one makes it past the mask of sincerity
Masterfully placed on my face
Never do I let them breach the surface

I like to stay light and free
Of hurt, pain, and complications
And humans carry these things with them everywhere they go
So once I've learned all I can about a person I move on to the next

And continue my journey of life

I like old fashioned romances
Throwing rocks at windows
And cool walks in the night holding hands
I like good morning wishes and butterfly kisses
I dream of embraces so close
You can feel the trickle of their breath on your neck
Their heartbeat involuntarily syncing with yours

I dream of these things
These things I have longed to feel

I still get excited at the sight of a swing left vacant at a playground
Or mini marshmallows in hot chocolate
On bitter winter nights.

'Cut, cut, little scratch. I wonder how you got attached. On this skin so red and clear. Like everything could disappear.

When the darkness has fallen on you. When the silence is becoming true. Then you grab your little knife. And cut, cut to come alive.

Then the voices in your head. Were getting silent instead. They did not know what to do. Without that body of you.

In the night sky you lay there. Under the white sheets without air. Forever shutting your eyes, dreaming of yourself in heaven skies.

As you fell asleep and finally got rest. Now they'll know they got your buttons pressed. Though little sister blames it all on herself. Cut, cut, little scratch.'

it's funny how people can capture you.
the lines around their eyes when they smile can invite you towards them,
or the fleeting look they give when they think no one's watching.
i'm interested in people's confidence, but also their nongregariousness.
the giving, the receiving, ebb and flow that makes sense but so little sense.
promise and brokenness, blame and responsibility.
strong regard interests me; inform me of the weather, or why that tea reminds you of that person, and why that makes you close your eyes and wonder.

269

Bound—a trouble—
And lives can bear it!
Limit—how deep a bleeding go!
So—many—drops—of vital scarlet—
Deal with the soul
As with Algebra!

Tell it the Ages—to a cypher—
And it will ache—contented—on—
Sing—at its pain—as any Workman—
Notching the fall of the Even Sun!