two a.m,
in your kitchen,
lighting cigarettes on your stove.
i'm thankful for
your addiction
or your arms wouldn't be
holding me close.

time is as long as
this cigarette will allow -
the present,
the future,
is here & now.

with each flick
of my wrist,
my eyes do the same -
from your clothes
to your oceanic eyes
to your sunken in face.
you know
i want your taste -

but ashes linger
in my mouth
& your hand headed south
& i guess we were playing
different games.

i searched for the words
to fill your
unsaid thoughts
but you searched for
my body's beginning
to connect the dots.

I've smoked all these cigarettes
but I still don't know what "I love you" tastes like
I know hands againsts skin and a face on fire
shaking hands and heartache
but someone tell me
What does I love you taste like
what does it feel like against a hollow ear
I know his fingers on my spine, but not a print on my soul
not one steady syllable
I'm not old enough to say that I've felt it all
but I've felt enough
to feel this sickening ache deep in the pits of who I am
each time I get close enough these words are like sand
running through the cracks between my trembling digits
I swallow down every thought like a hand full of rocks
My throat is screaming raw
I've become too afraid to feel things that I cannot put into words
and to say I want nothing more than to see you
is not enough
because I want everything
including your voice
pressing hot words against my skin instead of finger tips
I want 'I love yous' in my eardrums
but all I get is the sound of my heart beating
and that's starting to sound like a gental lie
I've smoked all these cigarettes
My mouth is desert dry
I cannot force the words out
There is a faint buzzing in the back of my brain
it's more like a thousand wasps
The sound of every "I love you" that's ever been lost

I call you categorical;
it's cause you're unbelievable.
I hate to wax historical;
you're simply unconcievable.

I must confess;
I do my best to contemplate conformity.
Normality, my pretty city;
you're such a chore to me.