The first night I came beside him
we ****** in braille. It was quiet the way some fog
drifts low
touching your head, but too much of a 
phantom to ever feel inside you. I squeezed his
hand in code - once, this is
good. Twice, I am sorry this has to happen now, 
three never happened because I
could not let go: 
he was my air and he was the ceiling when
I arched my back, he held me
when I gave pieces of myself away to the summer
moon
whispering about my hands. The finger I
awoke his pillowed lips with and
we had the idea
to exchange chewing gum in the morning because
Suddenly it was important to taste each other:
I broke the barrier of not
knowing. Our mattress squeaked in
tongues as I told it how we would feel together
when I hold the sheets that way 
I clawed through his wrists to exhale the first time.
And we have kissed
like hot rain ever since, silence saying
how I once had no one to touch me but myself. I
did not know
how to hold him without believing it 
were an emergency - desperate 
places hands go when you smell me in the air
haunting the room and filling the inches between us.

there is a poet with
the same name as my
ex-lover
's mistress
and every time i read her poetry
i weep
because it is so beautiful
but i cannot love it
because i imagine it was strung
by Her
just like Him.

there's this girl.

she's wearing a smile. a smile that's as wide as the moon and bright as the sun. her eyes sparke; her hair shines. she walks with a bounce in her step, chattering nonstop with her bubbly, eccentric voice. the world to her is a stage; a glamorous paradise.

she's beautiful. she's happy. everyone loves her. alas, she's misunderstood.




there's another girl.

she has a perpetual frown on her face, one that can't be wiped away. her sadness has took its toll on her, and she's drowning in a never-ending abyss. a chasm overflowing with every thought and emotion she's ever had. her eyes are downcast; her hair is gnarled. she walks so she's unnoticed, just sliding and weaving her way through the crowd.

she's hideous. she's depressed. no one likes her. alas, she's misunderstood.



the only difference between these girls is that one hastens to show herself, while the other is hidden away, like a lost thought.



people are not always what you think they are. a misunderstanding can go a long way.

your *** is like ****
(i think) and the backs of your knees
are like
i think. very nice to be inside of

i would you,

do you think too?

your lips and perhaps?

i would like oh dear to fit
like rain fits in April;
very wet and strictly.

oh dear and to eat you tinly i would hurt myself
with the hardness of earth. i would climb
into your fist very stiffly a flower. andear,
i would lay a hand against your unmeeting(
i would enter the primness of your heap
A mountain of unsleep. ) andear

i think you,

(do you think tooo)?