Hearts race as skin melts with skin.
Fingers slow dance
across heaving backs and chests,
drawing pictures on hips and necks.
I feel your fingertips and breath,
all over me,
tight against.

The day my father dies
will be a day like any other.
Only,
he will (finally) have an excuse to not call me

All my poems just sit waiting
unwritten impulses of some things
midway between my brain and my eyes

to get one I sit back in my Barcalounger
and pretend my head is in an MRI machine
with the laser scanner looking

I pay the closest attention
silently mindful
of how much I think and feel
about what I see

and then a poem says
you never saw that feeling
you never felt that vision

you just keep running
from one stimulus to another
like a person who cannot write

you need a bigger Barcalounger.

He asked me if I believed in god today
And I smiled
And stirred my coffee
And shrugged off the question
And avoided his gaze.

I walked home today
Twisting the ring on my finger
Listening to the music in the distance
Someone's playing a piano on the street
And I sat next to an old man and listened.

He drew on his pant leg with a marker
And looked wistfully at the sky
Holes in his hat and
No shoes on his feet
And I asked him if he believed in god

He looked at me
With a wrinkled face that had seen many lives
And pointed to the ******* the piano
And smiled at me
And said "This is god", and nothing more

So there I sat
With an old man and a little ******* the piano
And my feet were hot
So I gave him my shoes
And bid him adieu

So I walked back home
And looked him in the eyes
And said I met god
And he looked at me
And we went on with our lives

It's a weird feeling, being in love and lonely all at the same time
To put your whole heart into something you can't see
You know long distance relationships are tough
But what's hard is looking across the room at the eyes you love
And feeling every inch like they were miles
Seeing your cheeks turn to stone when I try to make you laugh
Feeling every could-be-kiss like a character from a book
Reading their stories
Making my heart race
Leaving my lips as dry, chapped, cracked as they always are
I sweat in my sleep from your body heat
While my veins freeze over from the warmth of your affection
I keep looking at the thermostat because I don't want to be cold anymore
But we're already sitting in our own *** sweat at eighty two degrees
And I can't make you care enough to smile anymore
But apparently I'm trying hard enough to get you to stay
Or more accurately hard enough for you not to leave
Leaving is hard work anyway
And feeling loved is nice
I imagine
At least that's what I've heard.

What what we had back then,
Does it mean nothing to you?
Or did you forget?

I still remember those lonely nights,
when the moon kept crying in front of me,
bathing me in tears of silence.

Those lonely nights where I saw my truths,
when I felt the weight of her judging me,
and her moonlight met my dark desires.

I hated those cold, starless nights,
when I felt small and had no choice,
but to face my fears and my inner voice.

I was ashamed of the things I'd done,
just hoping for the sun to show.
'Cause in his light resides my hope,
of better things yet to come.

And when they do, I'll be absolved,
and all the Stars will cry "behold,
the man whom the moon no grudge against holds,
the man whom the moon won't shed tears for"