I had a talk with the trees today.
I told them what I wanted
And they replied with
"Go on then,
run away.
Being at the top
Doesn't always mean you can see
All that much clearer".

Indeed they were right
It'll never be quite the same
On the way down.


Cem

The residue of indecision
Rumbles by in
Stomach pains
And the repetitively lame
Excuse
As to why
You didn't get
Out of bed today.

What a shame.
What a waste.

C.e.M

I've noticed the way
Your smiles have slowly grown
From the polite crinkles you create
For strangers in unsettling situations
To a happy twinkle
and a flash of your teeth
In the pauses
Of inquiring speech.

I wouldn't mind
If you came to visit
Every day this week.

C.e.M. 2.20.15

It's nights like these
That make me question
If my fallibility has come sooner
Than I had expected
And I will remain forever defective.
A kink in my neck
and hair in my eyes
Predictions of an impending fate
That I might be stuck this way
If I keep making this face.

C.e.M. 2.17.15

Pushed to the back of the fridge
Styrafoams full of predictions
Of life after your childish ambitions
played out.

Carried home from a family occasion
The ideas molded
Over the ages of a chilly
Adolescence.

Now each morning
hits like a punch in the mouth,
The sour taste of last nights
Forgetfulness
Heavy on your breath.


it's always too early
To stomach the sun.
Returning to lost love
With only poison in your gut;
It's getting easier to move on.

Continue along
Hanging from a precarious
Cable car of ambivalence
Wave at each opportunity missed
As it passes you by,
your eyes
Idly on the sky.

"Next time, next time"
You mutter

"Next time I'll give it a try."

C.e.M.
2.17.15

And after a while
Your coughing becomes
Comfortable,
And consistent,
and the soot in your lungs
Becomes just another layer
to keep you warm.
....
It's just another
Thunder storm
Avalanche.





Call me
When you get the chance.


C.e.M. 2.17.15

I will touch your hair,
matted and wet after a shower,
and tell you sweetly I like it better
when you forget the conditioner.

I will count each drop that falls
from tangled strands
that are strewn across
your pink *******,
and slides down under my fingers
until there are no more,
and I will be forced to speak.

you smile,
and its so much sweeter
without that awful shade of red
I used to fancy you in.

You offer me breakfast in bed
but I want you instead.
we lie face to face,
nothing but sheets in the way
begging the day not to begin
and this dream not to end.

you are sweet as sin
and I'm ready to dig in.