I want to show you
the language of my hands
For they at times
can be more eloquent than I can
More subtle than my sometimes clumsy tongue
Less prone to stumble or misstep

Every touch can be a poem
Every word can be a song
The touch of your love unto mine
Create sounds too beautiful to shush

Our entangled souls mimic the body of
Two lost lovers found, breeding light inside our eyes
The whispering of love.

The beat of the drum, Matched by our hearts
bleeding passion between our lips
Memories have been taking me, Too the light from our Eclipse

Satisfy, The aches of emotion the waling of the soul
A body so perfect in my eyes, No substitute is own
Caress, Create, words as of yet unspoken,
Whispered droplets of emotion
Running down your nape

Relentless
Constant
Everlasting through the chorus of our love.

Beautiful in the Moment, My everlasting known as you.

Lonely nights like this
And up for conversations with the stars
Had one milky way in my drink too many
And enough moons under my feet
To last many big bang theories over again

The stars seemed bored
Just..floating there next to Saturn
And I finally got the courage to ask..
For his constellation
And he said he likes my sun spots
That are resting across my axis

And told him that it must be nice
To be constantly revolving
Around someone else's  own orbit
Well...
And at this point I couldn't help but notice
He was glowing I swear
They can kind of be ***(troids) sometimes

Wow..and he could be a cometian.
Stars are funny that way

you’re telling me something
yes

     I know

this is a game you play
and I’m caught up

a scrap
    
     of debris

in your Kansas storm


each move we make
is dangerously
exciting

or the other
way around

or not exciting

     at all

words like cracking eggs

enough for weeks


your story changes
every time

truth

lost in the wind

ghosts don’t scare me

     real people do


if I’ve gone quite mad
you’ve fixed me this way

what do you think she looks like sitting out on the edge of a dock
as the sun is just beginning to creep down below the trees on the other side of the shore?
light washes just the right side her face as she looks up from dangling her toes in the water
seeing her through the fire pit you're warming yourself by
it crackles and grows, the flames in front of you dance around her messy hair in the distance
the loons coo & the waves slosh against the beach
her feet rise above the water
& she begins to float towards you above the tide
until she’s above the fire
the tallest embers flicker at her feet
she leans down and slowly runs her hand down your cheek
“i wished you loved yourself when you met me”

I think she feels like when the sun has gone down
and the fire is minutes from dying
and me alone

I can sleep with you,
but I can’t be asleep with you.
I can drive you mad
bent over the headboard
of your expectations,
but I can’t meet them.
What you are looking for
does not hide between my legs
panting for salvation;
it hides trembling in the bend of an elbow,
tucked away in tracks that mark the spot.
Treasure coves lie in the hollowness
of my sunken eyes
and under the thickness
of my bitten tongue
until the only thing I can taste is
the bitterness of my laughter
like a hangover
from too much sweet talk the night before.
Some nights,
the holes in our conversations
"with the lights on"
leave me crucified between
two lines I should have never crossed to begin with.
Other nights,
I am stretched out across the entire room
and your eyes touch nothing
but the bathroom floor we grouted together
with our spines.
The backbone for this poem
isn’t your unattached vertebrate,
but the committed soft spot
behind my promising kneecaps
that give out each time
you ask me
when I’m coming to bed
because a mattress
may be the sole platform for this love,
but your sheets
can’t cover the indifference in my touch.

fullest bookshelves you will ever see
soft hazel eyes hiding behind stiff blue frames
loads of pillows and fuzzy warm blankets
reading poetry in secret nooks and crannies
curly all-over-the-place cascading brown locks
dancing in the early springtime drizzles
movies with huge tubs of butter-drenched popcorn
laying in the lush grass, fingers stretching for the clouds
pens tucked behind ears, in coat sleeves, and on window sills
raspy, off-key, unabashed shower singing
friday night new netflix show marathon
awkward attempts at kind-of-sort-of flirting
secret stash of every single type of chocolate
complete list of the world's cheesiest pickup lines
bottom lip biting in intense concentration
well-worn copies of shakespeare's best plays
mindlessly wandering streets for hours on end
love songs, romantic surprises, that one perfect sonnet

good god, good girl