we were built by the chaos theory
no outward motion of science
ever led us to believe
or left us believing in each other
one small wing from a butterfly
brought me nearer to you
and farther
now
when my head is on your shoulder
and your heart is with her

I'm drunk
here are the things I never said to you
I don't know why we're fighting
i want you to love like I do
I'm trying my hardest not to stare
at the screen of my phone
it's not a picture of you
I want it to be
I'm doing better though
I don't think I need you
I just really want you
as comfort
no matter how many times
you upset me
and pull the trigger
I'm just drunk
and you're what I want

I feel your thoughts turn
in the wild plum twilight,

as we stroll from
the crooked grocery

to the empire
of mauve carpets.

Your hand draws tight.
Your eye is wet and sharp.

You don't need to say it,
I know the hue and tint

of your just heart,
I feel the cutting wave.

In Arabic, "poetry"
is related to "hair" -

both things sense
the world so finely.

Well, let this poem
know you as gently

as your Rapunzel's hair
knows the evening air

winding through silver
avenues of moon.