i find echoes of your existence
in ragged coffeehaus and empty wine bottles
and i swear i can almost taste your sweat
when i drive home
             down university to southgate.

it's easier to pretend during the daylight hours
but at two in the morning
                                             when the stars kiss my eyes
i swear it's you
                          and no matter how many times
                          i wash my blanket
i hear you call my name
                                          from the folds of its fabric.

like the ocean waves,
the water never quite the same;
               i've changed
               i've changed
               i've changed

In a house,
               empty
of everything but
                               flowers
                               light through the windows,
I would relax into you
in all that                       green
every evening,
                        head dizzy from
                                     all that extra
                                                  breathing.
I would uncurl
                    your spine
Stretch you
As tall as
Mountains
                         Read every leaf of your tree line
                                   every word of your would be
                                                                                       pages
in all that                  green
                   empty
of everything but
                               flowers.

you looked in the mirror
and saw someone else's eyes
hiding behind your own.

you felt shattered
when you saw him last
but you were stronger

like you'd been tempered
with distance and distraction
false answers in the stars

and you were the tree all along
branches just hearts strings
connecting you to sky
and you still weathered well.

Nostalgia is a man I have memories with,
                                    but no knowledge of.
He is a tree rooted in mystery
with leaves that shade
         the hungry mouth of a river
         malnourished--
pale skin stretched over tendon.
Release
palm upturned in offering
always offering
even with nothing to give.
Nostalgia
                 never learned hatred,
                                                       but bitterness
cold winter biting at smoking hands
bony fingers raw and red and reaching
                                                        ­             out out out
for empty air

your shoulders are mountains
and the valley in between
                          (where clavicle meets)
a heart beats underneath:

A coursing river of veins
with chemical pollution
sings its way through your landscape
but on it's banks grow flowers.

1.
Look in the mirror and practice
saying I love you until the words come out
sounding like the song birds you heard
while washing your body in a river
that looked like glass before being shattered by
waterfall.

2.
The muscles in your cheeks will hurt sometimes
when you smile too much,
but remember that ache when you are feeling lost.
Even happiness is hard.
Keep telling yourself it is worth it.

3.
Scars and bruises cover your body
like a map to remind you
which falls hurt the most,
and that you stood up again.

4.
Grow flowers in your bones
so that you aways have a gift to give.
Sometimes, that gift is yourself.