leaves are dying and the air is thinning and the atmosphere
is no longer conducive to hot, fiery things,
everything is dying (but not Hope)
Hope never really dies,
it sets like the sun,
flees to places where it's been dark for too long,
sleeps like the bears,
finds that maybe resting for a while would be more efficient.
Hope never dies.

we stood on the precipice
and it was a safe place between the white-hot, dry sand
and the omnipotent currents hidden beneath the breathing ocean,
and i grabbed your hand without thinking and i said let's swim,
let's do it,
what could go wrong,
if we both want this,
but you said no, there are Living Things in that water,
i said let's befriend them and you said
no,
we are powerless against the current,
and i said let's surrender to it and you said
No --
and you ****** your hand from my grasp but i held on until you told me that
you're not afraid,
you just hate the water

you are beautiful,
with your angular, square jaw (or was it more rounded, i don't remember, i don't want to)
with your warm bronze skin (or was it more mocha, i don't remember, i don't want to)
and your perpetually faultless disposition
(i could never find a crevice to wedge myself into)
and your hands are beautiful
for the way they strummed my body
(it sounded so good i didn't know you were tone deaf)
and your aura was so beautiful
when it mingled with mine
and the patterns were so beautiful
but they could never become one color,
mine was dark when yours was bright and the contrast
was blinding
(you were the first to gain back vision)
you were so beautiful. (to me)
(not anymore)

i was so focused on the corpse of What I Thought We Were
until my eyes zoomed out to find
that i was walking through a cemetery
of things that Used to Be,
and instantly found it silly to focus on one unmarked grave when there were so many others
that had nothing to do with love or ***,
nothing to do with you --
older, more elaborate graves
that i mourned from the dawn of my life to now,
more important deaths.

i like falling in love as much as i hate it,
i like losing balance and writhing on slippery slopes and bruising my knees and laughing at my panic
i like my pupils dilating and taking in blinding amounts of light
i like the rush of my heart sinking and rising
i like the great abandon with which i love
and how i'd skip French class
to explore the less verbal part of the culture,

i think i like being in love with you
more than i like you

you were further behind on the Path
and you stopped to stare at daisies and i tugged at your hand because
you were slowing me down
and i tried to tell you about more important things that lay ahead,
but you were so **** distracted by the flowers,
and i was hurting your wrist,
and you got sick of it and found someone who wouldn't rush you

he ****** you,
in/out
here/not
filled/hollow,
and his absence only further defined his presence
and you loved when he was in but
hated when he was out
but you loved it all because
in and out
were two parts of the same phenomenon

i know that you can't imagine yourself being hung up on
anyone but him
and i know that even though his *** was mediocre you can't imagine
moaning any name but his
and i KNOW that no one's voice sounds as enticing right now
RIGHT NOW
right now
right now doesn't last forever

if eyes are windows to the soul (or whatever)
then yours surely existed, but they were tinted almost black
and i'm sure you could see out,
but i couldn't see in,
and they were always turned away from me,
perhaps yearning to open to someone else,
(does it get hot in there...
do you ever air it out?)

The future is uncertain,
and i don't know what i'm trying to say,
i just wrote this
and
hoped it rhymed
along the way