Maybe it was weird that I didn’t move my hand

When it rested against yours

Or that I didn’t move my leg when our knees touched

Or that when we slept facing opposite directions

So we could share the same pillow

I pretended to be asleep when my lips touched your forehead

Just so we could be close a minute longer

I know I cry in my sleep

But you don’t have the same dreams I do

And you don’t have that awkward belief

That all people fit like puzzles if you press hard enough

What the hell do you think hugs are?

Or holding hands is?

I know I can’t accidentally fall into you

And sure

maybe it’s weird that I rub my socks into the carpet

With the sole purpose of shocking you

But how else do you make sparks fly?

I know that my life’s story is an open book I tell so well

My pages are shameless

And my words are honest

And yeah

I know I stare at your mouth when you speak

It’s just that

Eye contact freaks me out

And I’m sorry I spaced out while you were talking

It’s just that I was staring at your lips

And I suddenly wanted to kiss you

I know I have no filter

And am practiced in the art of bad timing

And poor explanations

But we’re only human

We only want simple things

Like to be needed by other humans

Go ahead

Need me like a parasite

I’ve already got so much excess baggage

The weight of your monkey on my back

Might as well be an anchor

Keeping me next to you

There should be dents in your memory foam by now

Pretty lady

There are dents in my cheeks from all the smiling you cause me

And I’m pretty sure you could light a match

From the heat in my face

So I am sorry if I can get a little creepy

It just means I like you

High school was always mewing
Quietly at the window
As the window filled with rain;
High school had matted fur,
It purred and gazed attentively.

High school was constant prodding,
Poking, miniscule thefts of attention
Piled into mountains.
High school was false and sweet -
Saccharine and lemon-sour.

My friends:
The lost, the needy, the distressed,
The empty, the hungry
With open mouths stuttering
Repeatable predictable rhythms.

My friends:
The quiet, the wise, the brave,
The knights of an emaciated kingdom -
Boys with wooden swords
Defending me from the world.

High school was always shallow water,
Too loud laughter, music blasting:
A cacophony of nothing, three feet deep.
Dancing on the head of a drunken giant
Who for too long had been asleep.

I called the ending to this story, you know.
After all, I am an author derived from you.
The love, then betrayal.  As if I wouldn’t understand it
All on my own.  So I knew what the last page said
Before you read it to me.  And you lied.
You pretend the hard covers keep in your secrets
And hide your past but now even I know better than to be fooled.  
Every movement you make flips the pages
Right back to where we started.  All over again.
Back to the beginning of this section until I know it by heart.  
And I raise the question, how do we end it?  
How do we begin to end it?  We get close with forewords
And bookmarks.  And even closer with anecdotes
And dedications.  But I need more.  No more action novels.  
No more thrillers, romance, sob stories or fantasies.
I need non-fiction.  Real words.  Real feelings.
Real people.

Signed,
The Daughter You’re Losing

She stood before me
Long grey coat fringed with dewy beads
The gentle rain walled our world
Existence bounded by her umbrella
Her body matched to mine, but held apart
Toes, ankles, calves, hips, shoulders.
We stood so close
To stay dry, of course
Her body glowed with heat
A heat that washed over me in waves.
The damp shirt steamed on my back, my body responding in kind
So close.
Figures flickered in the distance, far beyond the walls of our world.
Meaningless flickers in a meaningless place.
Our small world empty of all but our heat
A meaningless place that we belonged to
Her eyes traced the outline of my face.
Her cheeks glowed, seemed to press against me, though she did not move.
My hand on her cheek, her neck. Although it did not leave my side.
A meaningless place we should return to.
"I have to go." ... "So do I."
"Soon." ... "In a while."

I
duck into tree light
while this red earth field,
seven years ripe,
germinates small answers
to questions hard planted.

You,
Shroud in silence,
drink the silver night air
while the elusive slips
silently by.

We
stand sky-high
weaving through
grain threshed
wind swept fields.

Suddenly,
awakened by the capacious star's
rising yellow ardor,
verdant implants of dewy life
lift skyward and scatter untrodden roots.