library books;
     the musty smell floods me with
     thoughts of its past readers
     did a girl like me
     run her finger across this line
     as i have?
     will our lines like vines
     ever intertwine?

rainy nights;
     while the tip-tap and dribble of
     droplets hit my windowsill,
     i imagine gusts of wind
     dancing with one another:
     carless and free
     and without destination

light touches;
     the accidental bump of elbows,
     the awkward entanglement
     of fumbling phalanges,
     a gentle squeeze of the hand,
     a comforting gesture that says
     “i am here.”

now reverie this:
     you and i,
     the spines of our books broken,
          our shoulders barely brushing,
               the sound of soft and subtle raindrops
          all things i adore in one simple
      and seemingly endless moment

books, rain, touches, and you

My life is ending
My world, changing
Souls to come across
And souls to leave behind
And in my nightmares of
The glorified chaos,
I see yours drift away.

With so much ending,
And so much changing,
I see the world open its
Arms to me.
And though it is vast
And cold
And salty
And windy
And moist enough to soak into my bones,
At least I have my kayak,
With countless directions to go
(Except back, mind you),
And you in the other seat.

our lips will never meet
nor our fingers intertwine
and so bless my dreams
for indulging what's not mine

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry

clouds crying in the dark
As a soothing  melody marks the demise.