we sleep

            with the sunrise,

tightly woven

into the                                                       shadows

like a

     coarse

fabric,

our hands

                                the clumsy stitches

                                that hold us together.

There are mountains
with my inscriptions,
winds with my whispers,
waves with my past
reflected in their depths.
They are all you;
of you, for you;

an entire planet
that had once been
untarnished,
now covered with
inescapable meaning.

How will I ever forget you?

Your legs are an uprooted tree, longing for the taste of soil.
The water won’t flow in an ocean filled with stars, the spaces between them
dark like ink on paper, lines drawn through a multitude of times,
too many words occupying the same space so that nothing exists
but a verbose blackness. *Your hands are wisps of smoke,
edgeless clouds that coil around me and dampen my bare skin.
The current is cut by the planets, interrupted by the nebulae,
pushed by the galaxies and surrounded on all sides, at some point,
by land: the ambit of the observable universe.

Your body
sinks;
the universe ripples
and falls,
forming around you;
the heart in your chest
gently pushes,
gently pulls,
shifting the planets and stars
that envelop you.
Your toes burrow into the sand,
your arms creep through the skies,
and all at once I see that
everything is beautiful.

I never felt more alone
Than when I was with you.
You gave me tunnel vision,
Broken eyes and a broken mind
That no amount of liquor therapy
Can ever cure.

If only you could see yourself the way I see you;

the air would taste bitter, every motion that

didn’t emanate a passion for you would feel

forced and every moment would be spent

on unfulfilled wishes for your attention.

The way you walk intoxicates me,

your feet moving as if you were

oblivious to your own beauty.

There’s an innocence to you

that I want to burn away;

I want to kiss that smile

until it has meaning, to

hold that body until it

realizes what it can

do. Your curves

are equations

that I plot

in my

mind, your

eyes are dreams

I’ve held on to for

years. Your touch is

locked away under the

oldest memory I have,

a vault that I visit

when I need to

remember that

there is good

in this world;

that you are still

here, not for

me, but here

nonetheless.

When
I'm not with you,
I am
not with me