I've been
     trying
     to find
            words to describe
the secrets
            of ancient bones
            hidden within this temple
in which i've made my home.
Perhaps if you took the time
to study
              the walls I call
                    my skin
               covered with
graffiti & hieroglyph,
You might find
                           some
                                    greater
                ­                                 truth
obscured by
my own lack
of knowledge
                         on where
                               and how
                         to begin

So maybe I'll start
                                 with the
                                 original
                             big           BANG
Detail
every moment
of recorded history
that lead up to the exact
                                  explosive moment
when our lips met for the first time
and i slipped
into a new    
                        universe
                          where­    

I only want to fill silence

           with your                             
                                                    name

Sometimes I look at myself,
And pick apart all the flaws,
That come to my mind.

I find that wallowing,
In my own self pity,
Is more of a habit,
Than a conscious decision.

This makes me wonder, though,
Why is it that my favorite thing,
In the world,
Is when you say my name.

he says
you're worth
everything
and he
kisses me
like he
believes
it

I need to open myself up and throw
away  all  of  this  stuff  inside me
that  tastes  l i k e  leftover  milk
and rotting   t o m a t o e s.   I
stupidly   let    out    all   the
f e a t h e r s  and sunlight
you've   been   sneaking
into  me for the  p a s t
year and I want them
back  I  want  them
back I want them
back  I    w a n t
them   back   I
want   t h e m
back I  want
you   back.

I remember every metaphor I used for you.
It’s beautiful how quickly I ran out.
It was just so difficult to describe
a forest at the bottom of an ocean on fire.
You were soft,
I was quiet.
I remember every park bench,
every broken sidewalk,
every open sky.
It was so whole.
I remember breathing,
and the lovely amount of effort it required.
I hope you do too.
They say writers remember the important things;
I say they are liars.
I remember you wore a purple flannel
the first time I saw you,
even though it isn’t your favorite colour.
I remember that you take your coffee black,
and your tea with plenty of honey.
I remember the way your eyes changed colour
based on the weather,
and the way you looked at the sky,
like it was endless.
You were endless.
I remember everything you taught me.

They say writers remember the important things;
I remember you.