It would take me 230 hours to walk from the spot
where you first told me you'd like to be my partner
to the place where,
nearly eight months later,
you apologized
for breaking my heart.

Two-hundred and thirty hours.

According to my calculations,
which I etched in my new writing pad,
I have one-hundred and one poems left until I reach my total.

If I write a poem each day,
it will take me almost three-and-a-half more months
before your vision
is faded from my memory, and by that time
it will almost be December
when your birthday falls,
and I'll have to start over.

And that time is not counting
old photographs re-surfacing,
the pain of knowing I've been erased,
or chance encounters on our campus, see

I have been eliminated twice now
by women who I have loved like nothing else
and I'm beginning to fear
that something is wrong with my love, that I am too potent
or terrifying
to have success.

I want someone to leave me,
and leave me well; I want to be able to call them
when I am sick, or alone, or dying of desperation,
when I have lost my home or someone in my family,
and vice versa.

I want someone to feel the same small attachment and desire
to still cultivate my well-being
as I do
for those whose voices I no longer hear in my sleep.

We both have kind eyes,
And are growing
In our separate ways
And that is
Oddly comforting to me

He stood on the grassland of Ledi Geraru.

The sky was a vast expanse of melancholic gray
and the crimson blue light made the night imminent.

Each twilight his feet felt the kiss of the dewy shrub
as he waited for the first star to come out
that in a hushed sweep descended as peace.

He would raise his finger to the sky
and upon the river of his eyes
the star broke into fragments of tears.

He was slowly dying
but a greater him was to tread the grassland.

His eyes weren't found.

Only his jaws still stuck with the beauty
were dug up from the stardust.

There's no Pokémon
here in Rio, much like our
clean drinking water.

I may not have the most perfect physique,
but as I sit here,
having a beer and becoming aware of myself,
I realize that it is all that I need.

My neck, though it grows stiff on occasion,
is the perfect ***** for the face of a lover.

My spine is long and narrow,
but crunched into itself
from years of compacting.

I want to reach inside my skin and set it free.

My shoulders are sloped, but sturdy,
and carry the weight of a thousand worlds.

One of my biceps is bigger than the other,
but that's okay,
its a natural phenomenon
and when I flex my right arm
it makes me feel strong, and powerful.
Capable.

I may not be thin enough
for you to count each tiny, delicate rib, but
I have a strong abdomen
and can do many sit-ups
or pull myself out from under you,
sit up suddenly to kiss you,
and anchor myself to the earth, yes -

My hips aren't as narrow as I'd like them to be,
but my quadriceps are strong and sinuous

My reflexes, feline
and my calves pure muscle,

I know
because ever since I turned thirteen,
I have been staring at them

after soccer practice in my cleats and shinguards
at the pool as the water drips off my legs and catches in the hairs
I've worked so hard to groom
in the morning as I stretch and caress their skin-

My feet
wiggle their toes into the moist, warm earth and keep me firm
and my eyes
pry into you,
always seeking
for things unknown

Your work isn't very good,
You have four women who've misconceived you,
and your drinking is a bit of a mess.

You smoke too much *** and you're really beginning to fill out your underwear.

But you're writing,
aren't you?