father
my light in the darkness
sweet courage and humble strength
prayer
generosity always makes your roots smile like the sun in March
carnations and archived success
padre, papa
you make other men look like ants
how did I get so lucky?

I tell myself that you're not my Jesus Christ as I binge drink
In reality
You were my Messiah and I crucified you
No wonder you can't forgive my sins the way you were supposed to
I get it

I am a grocery bag floating through the winter wind that's been caught in your branches

I hope nobody ever pulls away me from you

Floating is becoming boring

Let me pierced, tattered, crumpled

As long as it's with you

treble toned voice
inching closer as black-and-white men delve into mysterious plots
a paint-stained flannel rests easy on the cold floor
there's only time now for cheap beer and jutting eye contact
hair shampooed so freshly and genuine laughter
so familiar and so brand new

I feel like the only person alive during winter at 7 am
- Everything is a little more beautiful at night
- Oak cologne
- Skin is the sexiest part of the human body
- The moment his pheromones began to make me ill
- I'm floating too close to the sun
- Heels: A transformation
- A list of people I couldn't say no to
- We should've waited longer
- Modern romance and the death of sincerity

frigid air whips across my face as I strut down a familiar path
i've never been here without my protector
half-way to the back, i spot you
freshly assembled like a dapper gentleman from the 1930s
winking like the man in the moon

i melt into the bar table
sticky and smooth
pate
covering my crooked teeth in an attempt to stay grounded
I once heard it wasn't "cool" to smile but I can't resist
images of the past and present dance on your forearms as you speak
almond eyes

when did your hand end up on my knee?
illustrated hands wrapped around me like a coloring book that's been filled in so carefully with brand new prismacolor markers
who could I say no in those blurry moments of limbs tangling?
an angel on my right shoulder
the devil on my left
bliss

the unforgiving sun won't let me rest easy
silver and glass reflecting through a beautiful space
too shy to speak

this morning I was a lion when I should've been a lamb

maybe there's still some mystery left for you to keep hunting me

one black stripe and one white stripe sit so solemnly on a small sliver on my skin

somehow it stayed on through friction and dishes

mirror light all around my footless legs

and flannel sheets beneath the dregs  

knees shake and the earth quakes, the aroma of maple syrup wafts through my open mind, oxytocin erupting and cradling it back to Point A

the patterns in the wooden floor shift every season and there never will be a reason

like breathing or blinking or loving or feeling

it just is