There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,
‘who comes here to ****** our intellect?
Is his power so great we must reject
every other intellectual art?
The heart replies ‘O, meditative mind
this is love’s messenger and newly sent
to bring me all Love’s words and desires.
His life, and all the strength that he can find,
from her sweet eyes are mercifully lent,
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’

Your hands
felt like the pages of a well-read library book
torn at the edges by someone who didn't appreciate the story you told

using all the big words I knew,
I tried to fill in your missing paragraphs

but you were never that hard to read.

tracing my fingers along your spine
I find her name
breaking up your sentences like a misplaced comma.

You will never love me.
period.

he can't sleep at night
the phantoms ever appear
which haunt his slumber

I am a girl of textures,
scriptures,
and hymns.

compulsively forgetful,
i inscribe my teeth with one night love poems.

i try to remember their names

i carve a notch in my hip bone for each of them
an indent where their hands might rest for a moment
and possibly leave their fingerprint...

His hands
burn away at my momentary doubt

my skin becomes softer beneath his lips.

his lips taste like a postage stamp for an unwritten letter

with slowly drifting fingers, he writes to me:
he asks about my day with his palm on my rib cage and his sighs in my ear.
he kisses the center of my chest, and tells me a story about friends I've never met
he suckles my ****** when he talks about his alcoholic father.

and he writes goodbye with his hips between my thighs.

he provides no return address.
he simply signs his name.

A peacock arrives with no feathers on the dawn of broken human density, held only by the gravity of the mind,
In flux with all things,
Your possibility is your demise,
And yet a pathological transformation is accruing without the thought of that which is neither action nor reaction but a passion of interactions with the universe that is grasping to put you into her infinite embrace of wisdom and light,
To planes far greater than petty beings can imagine on a merely three-dimensional abstain.
Contemplate to step outside your brain.