How I adore your nerve
when you kissed me in your closet upon sheets made of legos
and all of your childhood dreams.
How easy I am for you to draw when you play on stage the song that you wrote me,
The one that feels like rock climbing by the river,
Like naps in the summer when I drool on your chest and you don't mind,
Like kissing you until the very last minute of my curfew,
only to break it for the miracle that is your lips.
How alluring is your breath on my neck,
Your voice in my ear when you told me that you loved me
and you didn't stop smiling,
even as the years went by and I did.
How I craved, longed, begged for time to be still
the time you took me to the highest hill you could drive to,
You called it my mountain.
"At first, you look at it and it's so small,
but once you notice it, it's all you can see," you said.
How my stomach floods with waves of nostalgia and a taste
of everything I've ever had to live without,
With complete and utter spell-binded devotion at the simple familiarity
of your smell.
How addicted I am to your laugh when you're happy and
the mastered impression you do of your mom.
How weak I am to your intellect and your appreciation of literature
and real music,
Your enthusiasm for art and the "name that note" game you force upon me
as you stumble onto the classical radio station.
How in love I am with your romance that is as childish as my attachment
to my baby blankie and my mother's childhood walrus that you never ceased to insult.
Our pajama day that we decided over our prom,
When we turned on John Mayer and slow danced in your room.
Your idea of a date consisted of fake wine and me.
How incredibly warm are the coldest of nights,
On the side of your dirt road as we lie in the snow that is too cold for comfort,
yet holds us there with the fear that one day will not look the same as this one
and I would bear any amount of cold winter to keep one more moment of yours.
How I cherish the way you latch my pinky with yours when we walk
And the face you don't know you make when you play guitar.
The rooftop where you kissed me for the very first time and the string rings
we wore to remind each other we were still there.
How incredibly and unfortunately devout I am to all that I remember of you.

A lack of presence
left the blind poet saltier than Scrooge.
He drowns in ink
clutching the hand of his past.
Transparent with an iron grip
he'll never let go.

The grip of the pen
finally has him feeling life between his legs.
Straddling his fears
being on top makes him feel complete.
Atop Mt. Olympus
the high feels more noble opposing the mere mortals.

Romanticism is the seed he sows into the ground.
Sprouting a tree tall
that none can climb.
He looks out his window
marveling at his roots.

The poor fool will never learn.
Through this frame
he is destined to brood.
Alone
he will fantasize his next epic.
Rather creating it.

The smell of forest lives in the tangles
of her hair. She smells of thrift store candles.
I can taste strawberry jam on her lips
her low rise jeans hang too loose on her hips

She wraps herself around my existence
and sways me back and forth in dance
Counting the freckles on each of her fingers
she leaves her lips on mine and lingers

She smells of a burnt sun
Her skin’s golden when her shirt’s undone
When she sleeps I listen to her heart
and silently remember, she’s just a piece of art

I must not gaze at them although
Your eyes are dawning day;
I must not watch you as you go
Your sun-illumined way;

I hear but I must never heed
The fascinating note,
Which, fluting like a river reed,
Comes from your trembing throat;

I must not see upon your face
Love's softly glowing spark;
For there's the barrier of race,
You're fair and I am dark.

The girl who never goes out,
We coin as no fun.
However she comes from a family
Where money was tight
And stresses were high.
She just wishes for a better life.

The boy who dresses well,
We coin as gay.
However he really just enjoys fashion
And loves people
No matter the ***.
He hopes for the world to be
More accepting than his broken father.

The guy who is quiet,
We coin as antisocial.
As if he didn't have enough trouble already
Forcing himself into his own introvert.
All he asks for is for kids to be
informed.

But most of all,
The girl who is always smiling,
We coin as happy.
When in reality the only happy thing about her
is her smile.
She keeps it together for the likes of others
And prays for a better tomorrow.