The skies
do not cry
for me or
for you
they only
return
the aching souls
home
gently,
softly,
falling,
then seeping
into the earth

Stuck
between
having you
here
and being
there
'cause we can
neither
be near
or disappear
without miracles
and selfishness
and a trigger
pulling
on my heart
strings

i always thought
you were thru traffic
that you were just jet lag
background noise
the kiss in the rain
i've never had
but what if you aren't?
what if this
was the thousandth time
i have loved you?
what if this is just a fresh coat of paint?
what if god
keeps a handkerchief
soaked in the day we met
next to his bed?
maybe theres a reason
i reach for no one in bed
the way i would
if someone used to be there
you know, they say
the road behind us
is littered with things
we couldn't hold onto
i wonder how many times
you've slipped through my hands
like hour glass sand
do you know
how much erosion you've caused?
i heard cupid
stopped keeping count
of how many times
we came together
just to come apart again
maybe it was just a rumor
it makes me think
about how many times
i've almost had you
like if all this talk
about history repeating itself
endlessly replaying is true
i wonder how many times
things have happened already
like the time
i tried talking you
into loving me back
back fired
or the time i could have sworn
jesus & lazarus were playing chess
with my heartbeat
but it was only you smiling
how many times
have i tried to tell you
how many times
have you read this poem
how many times
have i tried not to meet you
in my dreams anymore
it's like sleep tries to warn
me of what's happening
before it does but
i keep having this dream
where i tell you bedtime stories
and each one
is a different way you die
and in every one
i can never save you
it's like you're this song
i have on repeat
and every time it starts over
i forget the words
it's like you picked up the book entitled "us"
and the back cover
said you'd leave
so you never bothered reading it
tell me you aren't
going back in that bookstore
just to do it again
or will you tell me tomorrow?
or is this the time
you don't say anything at all?
if this has all happened before
if we call it quits
before we begin
again
from the beginning
i just want to ask you
to be my fire
because i am tired
of these old lives
and i'd like to see them
burn

If people were like peaches
the scent of their beauty would slap your face and astound you before you catch sight of them.
The constantly blushing skin breaks when bitten to reveal the sweetness cloaked within.
Some flesh is left around the heart that has been hardened by too many days abandoned in the sun.
The body is consumed ravenously by the eyes and mouth, the most beautiful part of the fruit.
But then the heart appears, the absolute entity of the fruit.
The heart has never been a competitor of beauty for its delicious casing.
And so it is disposed.
Without a backward glance.