Who knew happiness was rooted within.
no need to sift through the old letters,
they’re done.
Reality is planted in the digits on the clock.
irrelevant are remorse and guilt.
While I challenge the hanging calendar,
squeezing black-inked X’s over our history.
I clench digits of some reality,
only to discover madness,
I’m done.

these demons entrance our reckless thoughts
the devil teaching us to dance
one two three four
five six seven eight
our breath and step align,
to ensue impeccable time
we sway between the lucid arms
extended by our captor
a lost count is inevitable,
yet the music will never return
straining for a lone note
with cotton ball eardrums
our steps cannot suffice
the torn shreds of perfection

Yesterday was a ferris wheel.
We floated through the lights,
and held to the knowledge of what today might be.
Our notions were false and naïve.
There was hollowness,
in the positivity of possibility.
Our crutches crumbled, our future’s become translucent.
Wipe the fog from your mirror,
only our insignificant memories are left to repent.

i often just crave the brushing of a denim knee,
the tapping of brave fingers.

i want to have a shoulder to escape in,
all for myself.

i'm longing for a timid hand locked to my hip,
gently squeezing passion into my bones.

i want to share a heart beat.

please,
just someone to feel from my head to my toes.