am I


special?

see, I thought I was.

but then I woke up
after nothing happened
and you were cold
and I was hot
and I didn't want to touch you
and you felt dead.

and then,
when you woke up too
your eyes never found mine

and your arm felt forced
around me
out of some sort of
unspoken understanding
you thought you knew

and your head was
empty

and so was the jar on the floor
and I wanted you and I wanted
more.

we are rotting-
overtaken by the spores of
our split decisions.

Your eyes


just

don't excite anymore.

C.e.M. 11.26.14

the morning I left my toothbrush
on the windowsill,
the Cleveland sky smelled of laundry.

later still,
after the snow had started
in southern Ohio,

my coworker returned
to verify the body of her father.

a clear, azul dusk fell
cloudless, peaceful and still

through the turmoil in the atmosphere,
the tension of lost things
could no longer fit on a windowsill.

march 13, 2017
c.e.m.

There's something inexplicable
about the way
they make you feel




nothing.

Happiness is fleeting
but
you are your own mistake
you keep repeating.

one of these nights
might turn out right
if you keep your mouth shut
like the door you're always
finding yourself behind
with your back against the wood,
muscles tensing
as you knew they would.


Nose bleeding-
when is the last time you ate?
It took you an hour to get ready but
no one can see all your hard work
in the shade.

"baby, you look great"
is all you wanted to grace you ears
but you've got too much on your plate
and there are only couples here.

They will pay you no mind
and you will begin to feel
you might have been left behind.

you pretend you aren't hungry
because it seems more grungy.
cigarettes will stain your teeth
and smoke will spin circles at your feet
as you sway alone;

always hanging in the wings
you're looking for another drink
another triple shot
and you sink deeper into
the half-assed hope
that this will be a night
you forgot.

Just more meaningless crumbs
of these evening hours
accumulating into an unusable mass
of dried out nights

exaggerate another fight
you had with your mind-
what will you do when they call you out
for being lower than the grout
in the bathroom
baby face like you just came out of the womb
your knife is duller than
your conversation topic
you're a fake-
From a mile away can you be spotted.

Drained of inspiration
plagued by perpetual consternation
what will you sample next
on your way to a falsified elation.

Spending weeks away dragon chasing-
How long will you be on mental vacation?
They're growing impatient.

C.e.M. 12.21.2014

Go about your mac-book-business
and pick up the kids
when you're finished.
If you say you're just
working to live,
why do you do more
working
than living?
I know,
I know.
This is just
"the way it is".
stay skinny,
stay sought after;
stay a catch
on past forever.
C.e.M. 8.11.14

fingers to lips, I press tightly
Eyes close restfully
Inhaling deeply
familiar routine
missing something.

What I breathe
is not dirtied with soot
only frigid air
turned hot steam
near the back of my throat.

I miss the sensation,
Though not the flavor
And this partial craving
Is far easier to stave away
Far easier to keep nostalgia at bay.

1.15.2017

I keep remembering flashes of your smile,
all sweltering summer and
sun soaked in ***.

In the night we writhed against hours
that came calling as we tried
desperately to sleep and
the heat of your palms
struck as hammers against
the ashy coal
of my peeling pain.

Even after hours of charring
in the blaze of our undisputed confusion
you still felt icy
and I couldn't agree
to the unspoken regulations
and expectations.

I left you
with a laundry list of reasons
I could not love you
left forever unspoken.

Now twenty-three hours lie between us
and I wish I'd had the guts
to discuss my contempt
for situations I allowed
to escape my control

but consolation will never come,
and I'll always be in the hole.

Unsatisfied
And subject to relapses
Of pride.

C.e.M.

“I won't drink the tap water, its poison here”
and when she declared that,
I couldn't decipher if she meant here
as in Northside, or here as in America.

We ate sushi at 2am in the city
I was trying not to show my drunkenness
but I was stumbling into an accent
my grandparents carried with them

tucked in the backs of their mouths,
now peering out of mine.
testing the hydrogen
in the beer
in the back of my throat.

I need sleep,
I'm hungover
This poem can wait.

My mind seems to move itself,
spinning somewhat
while I remain stationed
to soft and tattered cushions

At times, not sure who's moving
Mind or body
like parking next to someone
who's leaving the lot

for a moment
you're caught in the standstill
Where nothing really stands,
Still.

I need sleep
My head feels fuzzy
This poems not great.

Its much later now,
the world seems
more capacious somehow
When my eyes are fully open.

The last of my confounding
half light musings
dissipate like tendrils,
mist in the rising sun  

and I, I am left behind
in the residue,
The hardened truth
that cannot move.

“This water is poison”
Her words echo through my day
and I wonder if this poison
will ever evaporate from our veins.

C.e.M. 12.15.2016

The floor cared not about the transient presence of my bare, calloused feet upon it, and it returned no hushed squeaks or slaps to the questioning foot-falls of my tired, heavy steps. In fact, the only indicator I had moved about at all were the spattered sand drifts that flaked off my soles slowly with the grinding of my heels in each trip.
A soft, self satisfied whisper came from the edges of my cotton skirt as it dipped down to drink momentarily, the cool insulation of the tile floors grazing its parched lips.
I hadn't had a cigarette in months. hadn't even crossed my mind, truly. Something in the sticky summer air called me to revisit old tendencies, and it was admittedly maddening trying to resist.  I had already done the hard part. That was, going about acquiring the ****** things. I was out of a car due to some irresponsibility and malfeasance on my own part, and the engine blowing on my former transport. Besides, I had no real notion where the nearest filing station was, seeing as this wasn't my city. For a moment, I let the unforeseeable notion sweep me away with it, and tried persuading it to disappear.
It was merely out of chance that on the way home from the beach earlier this evening, our car would be in need of filling up. As he fiddled with the various buttons and nozzles on the marquee, I slipped discretely inside and purchased a  pack of my old favorites. I contemplated lighting one up immediately but suddenly, I felt ashamed for my relent in defense against temptation, and instead tucked them away, un-tampered.
The sun and all of its steaminess had sunken back into the earth, and a cool sea breeze swelled about me and rushed in through the passenger side window to ruffle my hair. I had spent twenty minutes into primping it just right, but it was the end of the night and had decided to give up caring as I edged my head closer to that blustering wind.
Back home again, my fingers found the crisp plastic-lined corners of cardboard stuck in the left side of my clutch and, once again I toyed with the idea of giving in. No use, I had nothing to spark with.  I let the package fall back into its place in exasperation.
I suppose it's better this way.

C.e.M. June 22

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

Why her eyes look just like mint ice cream,
half melted in the heat of an overly engaging conversation
during the middle months out on the back steps.

Why my belly is never full
when my thoughts won't settle
and I'm up too late on an uncomfortably stuffed stomach.

If this was the way it was meant to be
then well
I just can't see myself being too intrigued.

How do I tell the difference between stagnancy and contentedness?
I fear I'll stop from comfort
before I'm finished.
Or perhaps overshoot the whole target.
Who's to say which.

C.e.M.
original write, June 1 with New edits Aug 11

I keep waking up
When it's dark
And thinking it's a new day.

But regardless
of the churning minutes
That thicken slowly
on the back burner
Until they've become days and months
I won't feel anything change.

I've got more pennies
Left over from more purchases
Than I ever need make
But I can't spend them-
Not all in one place.

See they're really memories and moments
You say you saw as valueless

Put a hundred in one
And i'm still
Financially powerless.

I'm regressing into lackadaisical
Attempts at metaphor
Writing without a muse
Is such a chore.

So the pain and the deception
Yes I will return for more
Even if door-to-door
We're a hundred miles away.

All or nothing
Never left me with anything.

When we fell off-
I grew happier and
You
lost touch

You told me from the beginning
I should expect as much.

I guess I just thought my touch
Wouldn't make you feel
So cold.

I want to try something new
But I can't fix you-

Or so I'm told.


C.e.M. 12.16.14

...and so time
continues to gobble itself up;
the only dog
to ever catch it's own tail.

I'm wishing to stop
and willing to last.

All the while,
a hypocrite shrouded
by my own inability
to escape self doubt.

I cling to the moment
before decision, audaciously
battling consternation
I bid time to speed past.

caught in
petulant impatience, I question...

shall I forfeit
myself to hell?
or shall I wedge myself
in the gap

of  days past,
and days
I cannot cease
from escaping my grasp.


I linger a moment longer
on a thought I often ponder...

What's the point
in living fast?
I'd rather lay in the grass
and finish last.


C.e.M. 12.23.14

Take me by the hips-
I’ll devour your lies like the spit on my lips.
Thumbs pressing into my collar bones-
I’ll be your throne.

I starve myself for you to fill me
This infatuation will **** me.

Nose ******-
Am I your honey?
Text me once a week-
This only means something to me.

We’re a one sided thing
But you’re the centerpiece of my dreams;
The consummation of my demons.

I've noticed your scheming smile but
I haven’t felt so
Hopelessly enraptured in a while.

Destroy me,
Please
Don’t mind my scabby knees.

I have a habit of falling
In and out of logic
But
You aren't a project
No not someone I want to fix-
That bag of rocks
Is just a box of tricks.

You’re a train and I'm sitting on your tracks
It’s just a count down until we smash into oblivion
Aphrodite,
I’m your Gideon.
We aren't apart of the same story
But mines 16th century,
And the glory has faded into the pages
from decades of irrelevant stages.
.
I hopped across bindings
And stereotypical findings
Because maybe
You’re meant for me.

Maybe I’m pushing too hard but
Our histories are intertwining and
the mysteries you decided
To pick apart;
Well they’re coming back to haunt you.

We collided over a fire
And an irregular heart beat
set by amphetamines;
You don’t know what you did to me.

Fever dreams when the fan is on low
Vacant thoughts make the hours hollow
You’re alive,
I know it but you only surface for me
When you want to see how quickly I’ll come
Eat out your hand
you extend
so

Selectively.

I shouldn't feel so honored that you've chosen me
But those eyes,
God those eyes.

I can’t stop swimming through them when I close mine.

I can see galaxies spinning in your pupils as
The sunrise begs to begin,
But noon will come and I’m buried in
Your possibilities
So effortlessly imagined;
So impossibly enacted.

You distract me from reality.
You are the thing that will never be.

You’re toxic-
A poison.
A deadly,
Delicious treat.

I’m voracious for the heat of your breath
On my neck once again.
Fingers on my chin-
Tilt it until our eyes align.

What a disastrous lie-
I’d die for you, spy.

Reassigning bits of me
to true consciousness-
A dream within a dream
A twisting landscape
Of implicated creations that morph
With the induction of elation and
The interpretation of intrepid behavior.

I see skin sparking,
Natural electricity, lightning
Blue cable veins bleed
There is no oxygen here
No need to seal the wound
No space to dissipate into.

The ceiling pushes up from under us
The floor spins in cultivated madness
The sky swallows me whole
And i sink into the sea,
Swollen with seductive intention
Clinging to fragments of reality-
They have no home in this realm.

At the helm of curiosity
Drifting through vagrancy
away from complacency.
spindling through fever dreams-
placid plastic landscapes.
I know not what I create,
Yet again and again
I meet my fate
within the metamorphosis
of melting clay and
The soft whir of the interstate
that stirs beneath me.

I know the soft rustling
of a rusting heart within me
Shifts the focus from fantasy
But nomadic irrelevance
has always been a decadency
Lest I leave too soon
and forget its places within me.




C.e.M. 8-9-16

If I listed out all of the things that have
Tripped me up
And troubled me
Truly my dear
You would never stop pitying me.

Take me backwards around that stop sign I split

My legs churn counter clockwise
To the backyard as kids

But I can't find a moment that will fit
The description
Of the happiness I sought as a prescription
And over took my kind
As an addiction.

I have to find the exact formula
To improvement
Because I can't keep living
In this whirlwind disaster
That has only begun to spin faster.

I have fallen into a
Petrifying and paralyzingly vortex;
The consumation of my years spindling around me.

I am wound in
Sloppy rings,
Sticky with sap and
Last nights spilt wine.

I've grown into where I  will remain now,
Regardless of personal preference.
Mostly I can settle for my comfortable domain
Of limited know-how;
But when my tongue trips
And my knees scrape on
Every protruding corner

I will remember
I am only living,

Hidden behind callouses
Of all those spitfire falacies
I was gullible enough to perceive.  

my bark has turned more
Into a disapproving grumble
When another inevitable wave
Comes to throw me under
In the tides of my troubles.

Perhaps I've grown accustomed
To the briney water rushing towards my ankles
And the gust that carries cold droplets
Across my hot, red face.

Let us jealously applaud
For those who trod on
Our aspirations,
And smile coyly knowing
We didn't let their
Questioning faces
Phase us.  

"****.
I grew up."
I wish I didn't say that so much.

At twelve I was twenty-five and
At twenty-five?
Well,
We'll get to that
if we can.

Regardless
I know that nothing's going to give me back  

Here,

now,  

              My short time.       with
you.

Deep breaths only multiply the weight
Of the question that's lingering in my chest.
I rise,
Against the counteractive distraction
Of avoidance.

I hear the words come out in short blurbs like a stop motion cartoon,

"So...excuse me mister,
there's uh,
something I've got to do."

I'm stumbling up to your room
And betting
On the mood
And the moon.

C.e.M.

You are not who I thought
I felt it all along

I should never deny my gut
When the feeling
Is so strong.

You are all wrong
Throw me back into the throng

If you have won
Then let it be done.

This is no longer fun.

Uncomfortable white man
Looks at his watch.
Uncomfortable white man
Wants to scream at the kid
Up somewhere around row 6 or 7
To simmer down,
Stop crying.
We all feel like you.
Uncomfortable white man
Signals the attendant.
Uncomfortable white man
Is thirsty..wishes he bought a drink.
Uncomfortable white man
Doesn't want to pay six dollars for a *****.
Uncomfortable white man could afford it.
Uncomfortable white man
Glancing at his watch again
Not allowing it the time
To click to the next analogue minute.
Uncomfortable white man shifts,
Uncomfortably.
Uncomfortable white man
Crossed his arms,
Grasping his wrists.
Uncomfortable white man
Isn't accustomed
To being
Uncomfortable.

I had forgotten what it was like to feel wholly wanted. Not just for my influence or my thoughts,
Not for my body parts
Or the way I so easily stopped and started
Things when being close got
Too uncomfortable.
I'm sorry now if I mumble
It's just getting a little harder to be bold,  
To tell you the things I hold
So tightly
And you take lightly,
Listening and nodding there
On the other side of the spotlight
Because tonight? You sit in judgements seat
And I am the one clamoring towards
The microphone to admit
Public defeat because I'm beat and I'm tired
But ******* it I'm still trying

C.e.m. 7.19.15

I can't change.
I can only rearrange
These wayward thoughts
In my brain
To seem
A little less insane.

Playing mind games
In my brain waves,
I'm a slave
To the way I misbehave.

I forgave,
But those memories stay
To haunt me and taunt me
Both night and day.
I think I'm stuck this way.

Bottled rage
Gravity's cage
My daily stage.


I won't engage.

**** this plague
Let it fade.

I drift away.

C.eM. 5.11.14

Part one:
I wake up. Everything's still kinda quiet. Except the highway. I've slept next to a high way since as long a I can remember. Has everyone? How far do you have to be to escape the endless trickle of passengers and their escorts tumbling down the great divide of one way or the other, compressing and condensing the magnitude and grandeur of the space between them? I like it that way. Always wondering who's face has crossed across your conscious space, that has drifted to the back of your brain. How alike are they to the innumerable faces you pass in the midst of all manner of journeys. Yours is as irrelevant to them as theirs is to you and yet for a split second, you both simultaneously glance over at the precise moment and you know, there's gotta be something more than this.

We used to kiss...
Frequently, fervently
I feared at times it was too much

and now after a few months
that feeling in my gut
was enough to predict
our coming undone.

small kindling fires
burnt through all the
small green sappy things
of little meaning and no importance
that were once enough
to calm the tides of loneliness within us

days go by,
we don't touch.

week after week,
I've had enough

of not having enough.

C.e.M.
April 3, 2016

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

Emancipated spirit
Losing pace
This loose flesh hangs
A reminder of
Indiscriminate taste
A tangible limit
To my wastefulness
And haste
And without grace
I tumble from sacred space
Into tainted complacency
And an un- retractable
Fruitless chase.

Like a Phoenix
I will die and replace
That which I lost in poor taste
Laced with predictable catastrophe
Encased in the blasphemy of self
The wealth of life
Now dealt it's wrath
Struck with the intention
Of being felt
Quaking about in my
Synapses
And nerve endings
Time bending becomes threatening,
The clock is an ungracious lender
And the interest of the wasted
moments pending
all too soon be expended
At the turn
Of the seasons
Lost in the maze
Field found its end.
My breath hesitates...



I will do what it takes.
I will not embrace this fate.

C.e.M. 12.22.15

It's a "getting tattoos for the feeling
Instead of deeper meaning"
kind of reasoning
Digger for personal treason
For an egregious timespan
That left you less leisurely
Shaking hands
With your palms tattooed
Too deep to let the ink wear thin
Skin calloused and questioning
The original intent.
You resent
Your inability to repent
And question
How truly resilient
You were.

C.e.M. 12.7.15

I love you.


That's not something
I'm accustomed to.

"The fireflies are out tonight" he remarked, plodding barefoot behind her. Dusk fell over the stoic faces of skyscrapers that lined the three blocks ahead of them. "First I've seen this season", she replied in a near whisper, moon-eyed and gazing at something over the space where the park was.

//stop//

Her ears emerged from beneath the water she'd grown accustomed to the temperature with her laps up and down, trying to wash away the earlier happenstances of the day. It was warm beneath the surface, but the breeze made her feel brittle.

//Stop//

"...or was it more of a situation entirely different?" the boy questioned. She stared blankly at his awaiting gaze. How long had she been under? she had no idea. She'd gotten lost in thought and, as usual forgotten to count her laps. It just figured. It was like her to drift off like that. She shrugged to herself and closed her eyes as she leaned back into the water, once again drowning out the dull sounds of obscure questions that dripped out of his mouth. She closed her eyes as she swung her legs up to the wall and exhaled as she pushed back and drifted once again to the other side of the pool.

//stop//

She was dripping wet and a man was escorting her to a new room. It smelled of grease and cigarettes. The lighting was bad.

//stop//

All dry now, except her hair. She was warmer though. She exited her current surroundings through the only door. There, to the left of the desk on the floor. She quickly skipped over and slipped them on.

//stop//

Her hair was almost completely dry and she couldn't stand still. He was cleaning in his boxers by the kitchen sink. She'd pulled up the rug in front of the makeshift TV computer screen and she danced in front of the window, happy he couldn't see.

//stop//

it's late. much later. she wanted to go upstairs but she was having a hard time trying to care. Maybe the girl she used to know would help her out with a little artificial sweetener to fight off the sleep. She could at least see.

STOP.


C.e.m. 6.11.15

In a dream,
a wispy woman
wafts down to me
and whispers quietly,
"window, or mirror?"
repeatedly until it echoed
as a haunting melody
of indecipherable melancholy.

I awoke as the sun suggested.
Awaiting the play of penitence
to present itself
as the heat of a distant star
masqueraded behind skies
gessoed grey.

The ethereal muse still perched
behind conscious mind,
eyes searching for a tangible answer
to reply, but found nothing,
save my reflection in the half light
and small slivers of outside
through Venetian blinds.
Dec. 16, 2016

He's got hair that smells like coffee grounds
And his mouth hangs open when he sleeps.
He says last night
There were a few too many rounds-
He's trying harder not to drink.
He's trying for me.

He's cigarettes in bed
After almost ***
I'm just not ready yet.
He doesn't get it.
I don't get it much either.

I'm taking a breather
When I come back
Will he still be a believer?

C.e.M. 8.12.15

Do you remember what it felt like?
that first time you felt something.
what was it like?
before grass was just the potential for stains
and a hiding place for bugs
that bite and itch
long after the day is over.
do you remember?
the way the air felt rushing through your window
the first time you noticed the seasons
and chose your favorite.
I can’t recall the angst of choosing an outfit
or the nuisance of tangled hair and chewing gum.
all i remember is the afters-
after i fell I had scabs for two weeks
after he left,
I wasn’t sure where I fit in.
After I switched schools,
After I learned how to do my makeup
After the sessions just…
stopped.
after they told me I had flat feet
after I wasn’t good enough to dance
wasn’t fast enough to dive
wasn’t keen enough to pitch.
after my lines weren’t crisp enough
my circles weren’t round enough
my words weren’t big enough.
wasn’t cheery enough
loud enough
sweet enough
wasn't
pretty
enough.
I don’t remember how it felt when I looked at him the first time
or how it felt learning his name
his hobbies
and his favorite sports team.
I hardly remember what it was that made me so happy
I just remember
holding his hand too much
and the sweat that always seeped between our adolescent awkwardness.
I remember what it felt like when he took too much though
when he was suffering and
so was I
but helping him was all I knew as a distraction.
I remember the strange faces and the late nights
and the police wondering what a
fourteen year old girl
is doing across the bridge at 2am.
I remember the drop from my window to the frosty ground
i remember the bite when my ankles hit
I remember the pang when I slipped.
What about sorrow?
do you remember what your heartfelt like
when it was still light?
when all those childish metaphors fit just right
and there was no need for anything other than trite rhymes.
what was it like when we trusted everyone?
when plastic bags
were just for snacks
and it was never a question where your drink came from.
When did my beanie baby turn into a switch blade?
I’m carrying around mace
like a safety blanket.
when was our innocence taken?
when did we get so hostile?
so sore?
so depressed?
How long is the list of things we just
“live with”?
Because it started with your ankles and then it was your shins
now your entire lower body is
caving in
that’s not even mentioning
what’s beginning in your head.
you used to think everything worked out-
at least eventually.
But everything is getting worse
your parents
your brother
your country…
it’s a divorce from practicality
that has spawned this disturbing reality.
I would change my mentality
but it’s been created to keep me safe.
at least that’s what they say
and I repeat to myself.
because now I remember,
i remember the things that keep me away
from the bus stop
from the gas station
from 202
from downtown.
I remember what happened
up the hill
on 35
out past the churches and the sea of dried corn.
I remember the sound
of the cicaidas
and your breath
and the sirens
I remember you telling me I was a hot mess
and I told you 
i needed to rest
when I was really depressed and you
never really questioned my sanity
the way you should have.
I wonder when I’ll decide
that I’m not getting by and I'm
fooling myself with the lie I've
sold to ease the burden on my weary soul.
I don’t have a home and
yes,
I’m alone.
But I live with it
I live with myself
I live with the scabs and the scars and the bites and the scratches
with the blurred vision and tired tendons
I live with it because
what else
is there to do?
I can’t get through to you
and neither of us
want me to.
copyright:CeM 10-2-14

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

unintentionally, I've made habit of waiting
until the highway clears out,
leaving nothing but sandy semis
and gritty grizzled men smoking and steering
Staring dead-eyed through sleepless deadlines
to make my way home alone.

Watching infinite dashes pass through my peripheral, separating me from
passenger-less lanes,
perpetually pondering present pessimism
as pale streaks slur by
enough to white out every word
I spoke and you never heard.

C.e.M
April 15, edit April 19 2016

I'll smoke cigarette, I've thought countless times what it does to me.
I'll down another glass of wine. It's good for the heart, so they say.
I'll laze around 'till three pm. My excuse isn't worth hearing.
I'll dream of  ways I could never be. Should I be less daring?


c.e.m September 13, 2015

The summer is beginning to
Seep back into my sallow skin
As the crisp night air
Turns warm and fragrant

And the sky
Dirtied with light
Disapates back into
An eerie though
Strangely comforting displacement.

Always temporary,
Change remains scary.
But the uncharted territory
Can't always be complementary
To the days whims and desires.

Weeks may come and go
And I will remain uninspired,
But soon the summer breeze
Will come whispering again
To remind me

Of the tickle of anticipation
When ideas are all I have
And facts have yet to
Set themselves into any certain order

And I don't feel so old
And your body will block the cold
With sandy smirks
And drunken comfort
As we slosh together uncaringly
For a few nights out of the week

And maybe by and by
You'll mean something to me
Or maybe we'll just go with
"We'll see"

But either way you will come again with the summer
And again I'll see
if I can try to be happy.

3.25.15 C.e.M

Out of                            touch
Out       of love
      
                   maybe simply
into complacency,

I watch your gaze
-
-
-
falling
past recognition

and I know
It was never your intention

but it's becoming hard
not to mention

If I speak up,
will you listen?

or will you               only hear
the last breaths

of my words
******* up oxygen

like the sound of some
half-hearted     kissing

and I'll wonder                      how
it took                                             so long

to notice
the obviousness

of                            
                                              (something)
missing.

                        I've never been
good at submission.

Cem 12.26.15