I can no longer hear the smooth notes of jazz,
how the saxophone, trumpet, and piano
worked together in harmony when we didn't.

I can no longer find shelter in the soft chords,
for the safety I once felt in your presence
has been compromised once again.

They call jazz a dying art, which,
I guess, is what we became.

Five sweet memories,
before I can unwind my thoughts,
before I can calm the world,
And justify my afflictions,
The bullet that heals the wound,
Overly aware of my spine twisting on the crooked mattress,
I count

Five.  We’re sitting on the bench in his backyard.
I’m too nervous to move.  
His words are rushing together in my mind,
but I nod gently anyway.  
Gazing at the night sky as he unwinds his past to me.  
He laughs, I laugh.  
He lays his head on my shoulder,
letting his soft hair press against my neck.  
I try to stop time,
Like a philosopher aching to solve the mysteries of human misery,
I have found pure truth and beauty,
but to no avail, time is a burdenous *****

Four.  
We are hiking in the desert.  
We climb rock after rock, yet my joints feel nothing.  
He points out the best footing for me, and despite being an avid hiker,
I follow along, pretending to be grateful for his instructions.  
At the top of the cliff, we sit on smooth stones.  
Lightning strikes in a far off storm. We ooh and ahh at each blast.  
Flash
Darkness
Flash. A glimpse of his eyes
Darkness.
Flash. His lips
I turn towards him and he turns to me.  Our eyes light with each strike, but the stare holds.
And despite the flashes, we are cast in the darkness of our locked eyelids
Our locked lips
The lightning mixes with city lights and all is bright for a split-second
The numbness wears off, letting us realize the desert has become frigid.  
We race down the mountain, returning to our normal selves.

Three.  He hands me an old putter.
I laugh. He can’t be serious.  
He pulls out another and begins stuffing golf ***** into his pockets.  
Shh, he whispers.  
He grabs my hand and leads me behind the house.  
We climb the fence and land ourselves on the 6th hole.  
He pulls me onto the green and drops two *****.
Ladies first, he chides.
Little does he know, I’ve taken many golf lessons
I win the first round.  
And the second.  
He wins the third.  
Two out of three, I declare.  
He mumbles, what do you want?  
I press my cheek to his, wrapping my arms around his waist.  
Inhale, exhale.  
Our lips touch.

Two.  
It’s six o’clock on a Tuesday night.
I am tired from work, putting the finishing touches on my homemade pizza.  
As I slide it into the oven, I hear the doorbell ring.
My brother calls my name.  
I try to pace myself to the door, but I feel as if I’m doing a full out sprint.  
I open the door.  
Orange roses hide his face, and I am the happiest girl in the world.

One.  The night is bittersweet.  
We spoon on the couch, holding each other as tight as possible.
His soft stomach in the small of my back
I listen to his chest, trying to memorize the pattern.  
I try to take in the small details.  
But no, time has never been my friend, and soon we are standing by my car as I try not to cry.
He places his arms around me and pulls me in closer.  
I know I should go.  
I know this might make it worse, he stutters, but I love you.  
And I love him.
And it’s over.
Once again,
I am trying to fall asleep in a hot, cramped room,
knowing that for every thought I think of him,
I am 1,000 thoughts further from his mind.

I'll act as though this pen is a sword
and carve the words on the blank page before me
until my fingertips bleed the truth
begging to be set free from my wounds deep within.

You nurtured the garden of your mind,
letting the most beautiful parts of you grow
and bloom like healthy tulips in early April,
until a single **** poked through the soil
and continued to spread itself, seed by seed.
One by one, the flowers all began to wilt with grief,
giving way to the **** that plagued your mind.
If you don't have the strength the pluck each ****,
you don't allow for the exquisite flowers to bloom.

I continue
to write
about flowers
so they
never die.

I know someone who finds solace in ballet shoes
                A boy who strums his secrets to guitar strings
Someone that spends his waking moments with glazed red eyes
             As if facing this world cold turkey
                       Isn’t even an option.

For boys whose fingertips shake
                Like the burning end of a cigarette
And girls whose smiles resemble
Car crashes waiting to happen
A cacophony of shattered noises
             And those of us who feel guilty for the
                     mere act
                           Inhaling air
                        And exhaling poison
So we spend lifetimes holding our breaths

   Until we burn our lungs out trying
            To warm our hearts
            With something other than the fire
           That burns out in a smoky haze

Until our eyes become rivers,
flowing oceans
That cry out a thousand melted glaciers

Our tongues speak ruined languages
We read everything backwards
Curse in Latin
Make oaths in Russian
So whatever we say sounds beautiful.

So that our hands wont have to learn permanence,
affection
consolation.

If you ever feel the need,
To take a step away,
And drift into the passion,
I'll be here

If you ever feel the want,
To slip you sole-less shoes,
With soft grass at our toes,
Hold me in your arm and dance,
I'll be there

Flee into the mountains,
Steal a night away,
Share a kiss for every star,
And forget it's just for play,
We'll be there

Let the sunlight guide you dear,
Through my soft hair,
Let my hands slide through yours,
To make a perfect pair

There is no future,
If there isn't any time,
Close your soft gray eyes,
As I kindly introduce,
Your heart to mine

There is a monster inside of her. I think it lives in her shoulders, they are usually heavy. Sometimes it crawls inside her stomach, shaping the curves that form her delicate waist, eating away all that she doesn’t, leaving her thin and beautiful. Sometimes it looks through her eyes. When she’s dancing and looking at you with happy smiling sparkling eyes, that’s it. Sometimes it makes her toes tingle and her veins throb, but she is too intoxicated to notice. When she sleeps, it gives her innocent dreams of the boy she kissed last night. She doesn’t know what love is but she imagines its something like kisses. And when she’s dreaming it whispers in her ears, “you’re impossible, you’re impossible.” She wakes up more and more tired every day

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love