Can I crawl into your mind?
Is there room in there?
What about your chest?
I could sit on the right hand side
and watch your heart all night.
I could be lulled into slumbering
with the rise and fall of your sighs.

If I
was a tree,

I would hollow
myself

o u t

so that you could climb inside.

I see you in the stars,
and you lay in all the grass,
you are linked to every tree.

All the oceans and the atmosphere are
you
you
you.

Supernovas in your heart,
lightyears of my love.

All for you.

the windows
to your soul
lead me into your guest rooms
show me the print on the carpet
its a good print to find words in 
the artwork on the walls in your head
the hues that were splashed onto the frames of your dreams.

the windows
to your soul
lead me back into my house
show me the wood floors that I have cried on
they are good floors to cry on
the curtains that fall onto the medium dusty floor
the shades that don’t shade but instead bring on the floods.

If I could crawl into a furnace and not melt I would crawl into you. You would warm me to the tips of my fingers and the ends of my hair could draw glass letters in the sand. I could glow orange and red with your veins glowing with the combustion of our love filling your form to the brim to the brim to the brim. Let me lean in, I don’t want to you to spill any of that love on the carpet.

The weather was not the norm there. It rained red rusted leaves and stones that landed on the ground like cherries. The tree trunks would hold you, hold you until you weren’t lonely. The grasses did not sway in the wind, but the wind swayed in the grasses. The rivers were highways that, like veins, carried precious cargo. Heart beats in jars on boats, and as in our bodies, they traveled from mouth to feet. Inside every bird there was a bird; working the wings, flashing the talons, snapping the beak and turning the head to get a bird’s eye view. The raccoons flaunted their gills at the pond during their lunch break and the frogs swung from the trees, croaking their hoarse pleas for sanity. We might survive there, you and I. If only we used our teeth and our tongues and learned how to better use them every night and we could strengthen our lungs so as not to drown in a lack of words. We could make it. Even if the seasons were not the norm

my eyes close
and I see a spectrum of forgotten things,
my subconscious unfocused,
so as to not remind me of things I told myself not to remember.
my eyes open
and my pupils shrink from the light
still allowing me plenty of sight
pulling with them everything I told myself I would not forget