My stupid idea
of you and I making love
is like what poets and writers do
with words and sentences
fancy tongue work and grammar
no touching
no holding
just the movement of our lips
forming the love
that we make
with
words

We're gathered round under the soft glow of christmas lights.

The energy gets heavy you can feel it, for once it seems im in a place, for the first time;

I can't explain everything just feels right.

I'll be like
Every other poet
And compare you
To the stars

Because you shine
So bright and
Very beautifully
Just like them

But you and
I both know
Behind that glow
You're dying inside

I don’t know if you know
I carry you
in an involuntary sigh
in a constant exodus of yearning
and in the frantic deepness of all
nostalgic thought, shaking time and distance
to place me near you
in the closeness of your warmth
remembered

I carry you in sorrow
precipitated
in the absence of your voice
and in the memory of your rib cage molded
in the shape of ardent weakness
my embrace

I carry you, the braille at the tip of my fingers
life drawn in lines on my left palm
and in the carcass of calm interrupted
by the pounding of a heart’s ill-time

I don't know if you know, but
I carry you in the crown of memories consoled
and in the spine of excess
where I fall, between involuntary sighs
defeated
in your skin remembered
from the confines
of the heart