I want you to scar my back
leave wounds deeper than
the ones they gave me back
In high school
Bite me in places where
she could only kiss me
because she couldn’t
handle what was underneath
I want to feel the crushing
weight of you pressuring my skin
to touch my bones
every place where you and I meet
There’s a moon begging the sun
For a solar eclipse

Sweet fragrant offbeat smells and sounds
accost us as we wake in the oversized bed.
Sheets have been crumpled and creased
thrown to floor in a white pure heap.
Your warmth next to me is almost too
much to endure, I can see the sheen of sweat
coming from your very pores.
Sweat created by the Spanish sun and our Spanish fun.

I look around the suite, and sweet memories flood
through me, the heat of the night as we arrived,
dishevelled yet ready to concede with our pleading
bodies. We cannot retreat just surrender to the crisp
white sheets, inviting us in.
How we tried to be discrete, but it was too sweet
we tried to contain our passion, but it was a lost cause.
This was a country used to the rhythm of repeated pleas.

I run my nails down your sweat covered torso
here we are complete, we are one in this, the Spanish sun.
You turn lazily to look at me,I see the fire is still burning
I know I'll get another treat, Latino fiery ness has emboldened us
In this anonymous suite we compete with each other's affections
Like a matador and a bull we display, and play with each other.
Broiling in the sweat covered sheets we concede defeat,
we fall asleep not by the moonlight, but by the blaze of the sun.

Life is too short to waste
On insignificancies,* she says,
Waving carefree toes under socks
On my lap
-One green; one red-
When I call her my
Lantern-Lit
Vessel of
Wisdom.

My rhymes are sore.
I've sprained both my
Anaphoras quite badly. Oh,
And I bleed from all my metaphors.

My episthropes are fractured from
Endless twosome emphasis.
I've taken a bad one today.
It's bedtime for beat poets.

I like the way your cheeks turn red when you're embarrassed,
or sometimes for no reason at all.
I like the way you say 'God Maddie'
I like when we are REALLY talking about
something else entirely.
I like your hair.
and I like when you let me play with it,
and I like how tenderheaded you are,
because I have to be extra careful I'm not laying on it.
I like when you get really excited about something
and I can't understand what you're saying.

and when people ask me to describe you, I say
you're short, quiet,
and that's not good enough, when I could describe
the way your eyes light up
or the way you say things,
or your mind,
or all the millions of conversations we've had,
or your laugh,
or your walk, as if you're the only one walking alone on a slackline over a mattress and you're there for the thrill.

You aren't a GPA or a collection of friends or a green-orange-gold-blue who is friends with a
blue-orange-green-gold.
You aren't even an aspiring pilot.
You're every experience you've had and every time someones' said your name.
and every kiss someone wished they had with you,
but didn't have the ***** to pull it off.
and every phase you've been through,
and every embarrassing quote from freshman year.
I wasn't there for all that.
But I can be there for the rest of it.

and I could write line after line and never come close. adjective on top of adjective with maybe a few verbs, couldn't capture you. or me, really.
there's a certain fire inside you
everyone who meets you can see it.
it's more than there is on the outside
and makes me want to burrow and dig for it
so I can be warmed by the gentle (or blazing) heat.
if I get too close, I might get burnt.
but maybe it'll be worth it.

I don't want to capture you.
capturing and owning and containing will slowly
**** your flame.
I don't want to change you.
I don't want to hold you down.
I want to see you fly.
I want to watch as your soul alights on the wings
of heaven, and the fire inside you finally finishes eating away at the outer shell and it
emerges in full glory,
and I've seen it for a long time and
now everyone can see it just like me.

You're looking for someone who sees things like you do.
I don't. I see differently. But at least I can try to understand the way and the why you see things like you do.
We're so ridiculously different.
but can anyone ever be similar?
Who you are is expansive and never-ending and unimaginable and no words could ever capture it. Who I am is completely in the other direction but the same in scope.
I hope that you understand-
who we ARE
is not nearly as beautiful and powerful as
who we can be
or who we will be.

Let gods all bow their heads in grief,
Command the rain: Release!
Ask the sun to please retreat,
And ask that I find peace.

Set fire to all places that these eyes have ever seen.
Set an equal blaze to all I ever felt within.
Spread the word to every ear that ever heard my pen:
That the voice they witnessed never will be that again.

Then ask each word I ever wrote:
Return, and share his grave.
Because -if I ran out of words- none written I could save.
I'd have to call them back, if not forever I am heard:
I'd never be at all -if ever I ran out of words.