I don't want to be just another notification.
Just another bland "like" on your poem,
followed up by yet  another generic comment.

I want to stand out in my attempt to show you how much the words you wrote meant to me.
I want you to understand how close you've come to understanding something deeper -
Something inside of me.

But maybe that's just the thing:
We're all trying so desperately to be understood.
A handful of anonymous clicks hardly does us any good.

Just another means to a fix -
Another indulgence of an insatiable addict.

I'd quit if I could.

she slides her slender
white fingers down the
branches of his spine

her eyes melted like
glaciers and lips as soft
as freshly fallen snow

skin lustful, but heart
unforgiving, exhaling
his every intention

she is autumn in his
palms, her trees bare,
the leaves rust fallen

flashing indifference,
thoughts plucked in
shades of violent rose

Twisted sheets, mind on stutter
Unable to sort through this midnight clutter
Put it away for tomorrow
But what to do with my gnawing sorrow?
I circle soft blue on color book pages
Hoping the repetition eventually assuages
The raw edged reality of lonely dark hours
Filling the void with Crayola flowers

Oh boy, you have no clue
how I'd **** to be on top of you
and if my mind had gone,
my jeans would be undone

you have to be able to love her while she's still, stagnant -
to be able to love her once she starts moving

I don’t know which spoon to use
Or where to put my shoes

I don’t know which hand to shake
Or how to drink my soup

I don’t know which cheek to kiss
Or if I need to bow

I don’t which blouse I should be wearing
Or which holy psalm to recite

I have never been able to make small talk
Or make people feel at ease

I don’t even know my biological traditions
How will I ever learn these?