I talked about it once
The place where in the distance
Everything looks like
Dots of light
And where our skin would
fold and unfold
like pages from
A book about god
Not bible—
Because in the creases at night
I could see him dangle on the edge
Of your eye lash—
and he’s begging you
not to blink;
and when you go—
overnight
shifting to the other
side of the sea
asking the moon how to get home—
I’ll come to you—
I’ll tell you how these pages
In your skin are only temporary
And that the crashing coast is only a mile away—
So don’t listen him. Leave him out
Let him dangle like he’s done to us
And when you stop trembling,
When your chest closes
When your heart starts beating enough
To make an ocean
When you’re ready
when he’s holding on by a thread—
blink

Leave it by the gate
Behind the red flowers;
And In the library
Near the encyclopedias labeled,
Firsts
Leave it on your way to her
Leave it on the 5th field during gym
When they’re beating you senseless
And you have no choice
Leave it near the white ivory doors of
his offices
Leave it near the sun
Have it bake in the light
Grind its face in the asphalt
Have it taste your two thousand tons
of spit as you speak
Let them know—

Throw it at the lake let it dance off into the distance
Let it spin itself to pieces
Leave it in the creases of her lips
her Fingertips—
Chinatown misfits
Graffiti your name on every single  
Williamsburg, post no bill, post no hate
Post some self esteem
Let them know who you are
Have them find you in the fine print
Whispering sweet hymns in her ear
Have them chase you down the icy slopes
Towards the crashing coast
Leave it with them
Let it wash away in the swirling vortex
Of her, dancing till the sun sleeps,
Have it lie in the wake of your dust
Let it fall
and fall
and fall—
Let it tremble off in your voice
Watch it snow away with every move
Leave it in the pages
Close it in your book,
Let your tongue crash
Inside the hall of your mouth—
Let them know.

Tell me about the dream;
where you found yourself surrounded in a sandy vacancy
and the sweat on your face glistened like wishes in a American fountain;
Tell me about the dream;
Where you saw the remains of the house your mother grew up in
And how you were amazed by the black shade that skeletons could take;
Tell me about the dream;
Not the dream you had when you slept all night wanting to go back
inside to your mother’s womb; the dream about the inconsistency of light in your apartment;
Tell me about the dream;
When you were five in Philadelphia, it was snowing like bed sheets like falling stars like—
I can’t remember; is it amnesia— no I just can’t remember;
Tell me about the dream;
Where rain kamikazes across your windows; shattering themselves into millions,  for the sun to take back
Tell me about the dream;
*The inconsistencies of light; how a bulb dying is similar to us; the way
Its flashes in front of itself just before it goes dark;

Our bodies are untouched hallways and finger painting has never been more fun
I was there once and I left believing that swirls were the only good
way of trying to get my point across
But things aren't so subtle when it comes to understanding the physics of how to dance
I move like scattered leaves trying to collect myself against the wind
You can imagine how I am at galleries with a living room full of broken paintings
I accidentally bought.
But I don’t regret it and I think that’s the best way to live.
A mouth full of teeth collisions
A lot of people compare love to an instant but I think it’s more like discovering the warm ghost
of the person still lingering on surfaces in your home like metal bars, the ps3 controller, and the toilet seat
finding the body wash disappearing quicker than usual
Inhale not for the enjoyment of it but the possibility of finding a soul somewhere in all that smoke.
We wear all this black. I bet if I jumped into you there would be another dimension on the other side
Where the people wear nothing but white and all they speak is truth
and I’ll end up asking them what’s the point of everything
and they’ll say nothing, all they’ll do is place their finger on my chest and start swirling

Here to a lifetime of laughs
A lifetime of wondering
why you’re still here
your past is full of cobwebs
and there nothing I could say
to make the spiders go away
there’s a future, where you never finish
your books, watch only the first
half of movies because you’re afraid
of endings
you’re underneath a waterfall made from
tears you’ve collected over the years
and your body cups it
holds it in-between the spine
and heart, where they’ll never find it

One day, after a year
you were walking on a path coated
with fallen leaves
along the sides magnolias grew
endlessly
there was a bench that you sat on
holding tattoos from people
that didn’t know how to express
the way they felt
so they whispered it in to the wood with pens
or anything sharp
and this guaranteed them a way back
you sat there reading them
running your fingers across the markings
back and forth slowly like hieroglyphics

One day, after your first year of college
you found him tucked behind
the corner of the library
reading encyclopedias about the modern world
and you asked him
“Why are you reading that?”
and he said
“Because I want to know if the ending’s good or not.”

We shouted the things we wanted
The most on unguarded roof tops
Thought up things like new colors
New feelings
we lived like messy hand writing
like abstractions
our souls mosaic
we took things that electrified
our senses
we felt love more intensely
felt it like a ******
felt it like a magnificent burden
it wasn’t a lump in our throats
but a swollen yearning for the truth
like an inflamed tonsil
a piece of someone on our tongue
left from a kiss that we can’t seem to
spit out
a vibration in our teeth
telling us that this
this here is what it felt
to hold fire in your hand
and not regret it
never regret it
we burned with this for days
stayed up all night
drank coffee by the galleons
punched ourselves numb
coated our skins in alcohol
and linens
peeled off scabs from our lips
left there by words we never said
blank objectives
cleared our schedules
cleared our wasted minds intoxicate from pine
wine, girls with confidences and odd mirrors
of *******
we wanted winter to kiss us
leave us frozen but not that she already had
we wanted to remember like an old photograph
like a worn out stretch book
a L shaped couch left behind burned
like we did
there are tons of things we needed
but what we wanted was a good ******* a really
good *******
Something to keep away the suspense
The terror, the anxiety
the failure
we are tired of saying anything
cursing is our second language.
sarcasm is our first
and a blank page is our third
We’re speechless
We’re exhausted
We’re afraid
We’re old
We’re young
We’re tired
We’re loose
We’re *****
We’re yearning
For it
Whatever it is.

And then I noticed that all I wanted to do
Was decorate your skin with my lips
while you rambled on about Baroque Art
I came here to focus
To collect all the piece of myself that scattered around
the world
from the time I had the biggest piece of me yet
to be yanked out
I didn’t want this
I forced myself to not want it
But that became impossible when I found so many
Pieces of myself inside you
It was like sailing all the oceans with only
The stars as navigation
It wasn’t hard but rather tricky to understand
Understand all your layers of black
And intricately woven sweaters
I imagined you plastering yourself
On the floor of your one room apartment
While the moonlight poured on your skin
And I could see every speck and pore
And everything would be so defined
You’re not a mystery but instead a character
That carried the plot of a beautiful story on your lips
While mine had nothing to do with the after thoughts
Of *** or kissing or walks along a dramatic skyline
But a poem about how much I want your story to
Mix with my
This is it