When i told you I wanted to go home, I meant I wanted you to feel like home again
When I began to pack my things
I grabbed my phone
the charger
which was awkwardly by your feet
and my pipe from the bookshelf we used as a nightstand when we finished our cheap beer the night before

then I remembered the old stuff.
the stuff you kept for me
the stuff you told me i forgot
the last time you said you loved me

it was the same week as my birthday
you called me
my time
so you'd be the first one to say it

when I called you on your birthday
three weeks later
you didn't answer

the shirt you gave back to me smells like you,


but i still have it on.

So what if
I liked the sensation of your
bare skin?
Along with the lingering
charisma you leave on
my lips?
And what if
I found your briefs
with a scent of
infidelity and lavender
on the bedside table?
**Now, what if
I murmured
"I still love you."
and under your boiling skin
you smelt
the truth run itself out of my
shower drain?

My skin goosebumps with the breeze
Early July melting silking soft, my vision
Lucy firing metallic spark neurons
Across the liquid night sky
Sulfur edges closer in it's hazing accent
Pool water lapping against the edge
Makes me giggle
******* hard, eyes wide
I take it all in
in awe
The laughter of our captured youth echos
Mountains stand in shadowed silent regard
Cradling our memories, pasting them
against our walls
I lean back in pure joy
Deep sigh of contentment
Overwhelmed by sensation
Sizzle singed, stretched thin, just need a little closer
Inhaling the scents of independence
Cut grass, twilight dew, chlorine
Charcoal takes me back every time
Chemical rearrange pulls spastic front to back
*All I can think about is having you here

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

as i stand, naked, before a full length mirror
i look at myself in confusion
and i desperately search for why
in every crease and line
throughout every dimple and bone
in between the spider veins and stretch marks
pale skin and scars
this isn't beauty

as i lay, naked, in the warmth of your arms
i look at you with sincerity
and i calmly understand why
in every crease and line
throughout every dimple and bone
in between your blonde hair and blue eyes
pale skin and scars
this is beauty

You claim that you're no poet,
That you lack the gift of words,
Yet your notes convey such meaning,
Leaving me filled with the gift of love,
So I respond forget the poetry,
Pretty phrases and simple rhymes,
Continue writing as you do,
As I will love you for the rest of time.

I want to write a poem
That will set you free from harm
I want to write a poem
That you can hold nicely in your arms
I want to write a poem
That has it's own personality
I want my poem to dance freely
On the edge of imagination and reality
I want it's softness to put you to sleep
I want it to hold you with it's warmth
I want it to entertain you with it's playfulness
I want it to be the readers friend