I want love.

Hand holding, eye smoldering, heart folding love.

I want someone to fall in love with my nose, the embarrassing pimple that grows, the stuttering word that flows clumsily out of my butterfly-filled mouth.

Fall in love with my bare face, the way my hair is never in place, the sound of my heartbeat as it loves to race when I breathe in your deoxygenated air as your lips dance eagerly across mine.

Take me to the future where your favorite song will be my jagged laugh, not the sound of my keys as they type “lol” on my mouth’s behalf.

I mean, take me back to the past back when relationships would actually last, so that I can yell at you on the park, as opposed to typing “I HATE YOU” exclamation mark.

Fall in love with the touch of my soft palm, the way that I get angry but always remain calm; and I’ll fall in love with your precious words, as we soar through the sky like love birds.

Imagine us flying, standing on the porch crying, being exceedingly scared of losing the only one that’s ever cared.

Fall in love with my voice rather than the arrangement of my sentences sculpted into emotionless bodies on a screen.

Tell me that you hate my profile picture because the lifeless image captures not the breathtaking beauty of my flawless imperfections.

Substitute your ****** with a dagger and pierce me in the eye agonizingly slow. Stare into my soul as you go in for the ****, to verify that your choice still remains at execution.  

I want to kiss the creases of your brow as they spill emotion all over your anxious face as we sing our first “I love you”.

I want you to wipe my tears away as we split paths and wave at our hearts as they whisper their final goodbyes.

And when I look back on our amazing journey, I want to remember you and your words better than my inbox ever will.

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met a motivational speaker in a velour tracksuit.
all his girlfriends had spanish names.
bubble gum smell, the vault is on fire
where
i found the hardlands magician where
i made out with my rearview mirror.

Good Luck Man down the number street.

cleaning the yard, ******* something
dressed in June.

noise from a well molded windpipe
saying

"the pool is too basic and you smoke summer easy"

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.