On my knees, I feel taller than I'll ever be.
Where his hands descend, my skin hums;
tones that are new; tones that pull;
tones that arch my spine; that spark an ache
and make me pine for more of this music.
I find that I know every word to this song,
even though I've never heard it before.

On my knees, I see farther than I ever have.
With a single lick of my lips,
I shake mountains; I stop time;
I **** the speech from a tongue
that may need to forget
what pains it to speak.

On my knees, I am the most I have ever been.
As he wipes the tear from my cheek,
with my smile, juxtaposed;
my skin still hums to words sung so clear.

On my knees, I find purpose.
On my knees, I am.

Maybe what I need
is to stay awake long enough
to watch the sunset again.
But don't pity me, please.
I'm just "lonely;"
It's the teacher I can always look up to.
It thickens the skin and deepens the thoughts.
It reminds me why I enjoy the sound
of a stranger's laugh,
and presses me to admit that
I miss being touched.
Lonely looks a lot like a harvested cotton field,
and if you inhale the air as you drive by,
you'd know exactly how to describe
the smell of neglect.
Lonely proclaims that something empty
is just as beautiful, because you can see through it;
it can only tell the truth.
Maybe what I need
is to stay awake long enough
to watch the sunset again;
to learn that its lonely goodnight
is the most beautiful painting
the whole world gets to witness.

I have this feeling you speak the language
whispered only between raindrops,
and every morning
you tune the hum of the sun as
it dims the stars, pushing its way
out of the ocean—into the sky.
I have this feeling you handpick the color
of each October leaf,
and when fall has wandered away,
you proceed to pull the strings which
make the northern lights dance
the way that they do.

I just have this beautiful feeling.

Twenty-nine belts bravery from a bottle.
It feels like all talk and no game.
Twenty-nine has thighs that don't lie
and a finger that motions you
to come closer.
It relearns each facet of love
and finds beauty in its own reflection.
Twenty-nine betters the invention
instead of reinventing it.
It imagines kissing strangers to feel alive and
gifts the pearl to the jewel thief
with no words- only smiles.
Twenty-nine strikes a match
in the middle of a pitch black nowhere,
only to see the smoke twist up and away.
It cracks and hisses when it feels its been forgotten.
It smells like pine needles, orange peel, and sun bleached cotton.
Twenty-nine forgets those who have forgotten it
but thanks them for the lessons.
It likes church but only for the music, architecture, and sociology.
Twenty-nine won't apologize for passion or pity,
but it will drip with empathy at inopportune times.
Twenty-nine steeps itself in scalding water
only to discover its true flavor.
It finds no comfort in the opinions of others
but will only rest at the signal of a nod of approval.
Twenty-nine looks down into the neverending
and can't decide if it wants to jump or run.
It handstitches a parachute
as it dangles one foot over the edge,
says a prayer to no god
but writes hymns that bring tears.
Twenty-nine keeps breathing.
It keeps breathing.

Drives to the lake in the dead of winter
where frost hushed every living inch.
These were my favorite.
Leftover snow cakes the water’s still edges.
The scene looks like a cheaply-framed painting
that someone abandoned at the Goodwill.
I smile, because we cherished tchotchkes like that.
The beauty, it’s there, if you tilt your head just so.
This girl, with her magic, she taught me
how to find happiness in the simple things;
that song that you’d love enough to memorize
could save your life on a sad day.
Boys were simply there for amusement;
adventure was only a car ride and a trespass away.
Life was at its coolest when it was secondhand,
and price tags were a waste of paper.
The farmer’s market on the one-way
was our very own Marrakesh,
where we’d fill the air with spices
and let them trail on the tails of our long sweaters.
But drives to the lake in the dead of winter,
where the stars seemed to wait
for us to fill the space between them with laughter.
These were my favorite.
Wrapped tightly in scarves, we’d oblige them;
happy that we could not predict the future;
happy without knowing this end.