I could write about your eyes,
your smile, your laugh,
your voice, your face,
your scent, etc., etc..
I could go on for days and days,
about your nose, your hands,
your hair, your chest.
Metaphor after metaphor
I could create
a thousand words about the way
you move, you kiss, you hold my hand...
I could.
I could.
I won't.
I'll write instead
about your brain,
about the way you make me feel,
the way you talk about the stuff you like,
the way you think,
or I could just reduce it
to those simple words
dopamine
serotonin
oxytocin

In general,
you leave me out of breath.

His Down's Syndrome makes
His age a tough guess, I'll
Say eight to ten.

Wide eyes on machines,
Ice cream dripping on the
Pavement outside the

Construction site.
I wanna work like this when
I grow up, he says in

Young enthusiasm to a mother
Whose eyes well up with
Gratitude when I approach

And kneel down in front of
Him. So you want a job,
Buddy? I ask him with a

Wink. He suddenly remembers
His ice cream and bites into
It shyly. Nods, glancing at the

Tools in my belt, the scratches
On my arms, the brick wall
I've been attacking with a

Wacker jackhammer. Nods
Again. Well, I'll see you in a
Few years, I say with another

Wink, this time to his mother,
Who'd look her young age if
Her eyes weren't as tired,

But you can start with this
And get some practice. I hand
Him my Stanley Fat Max

Hammer. His ice cream
Hits the ground as he
Recieves it with both hands,

Looking to his mother for
Confirmation that it's ok.
Oh, it is. She mouths a

Thank you SO much...
They walk away, his chatter
High pitched and fading

Around the corner. And I
Head over to the foreman to
Report that I lost my hammer.

Don't ever employ me.
I can work a good game, but
I'm too soft around little heroes.

I don't feel the way
Most girls do

I'm usually sad
I always feel bad

I am not the way
Most girls are

I'm not thin and beautiful
Nor curvy and cute

I was never loved
Like most girls were

Just words and lies
And my burning eyes

You fell in love with me.

I just hope you jumped.
Not slipped.

We sat together, but not like
Ever before.
Our Lady Peace on repeat.
I'd written a post for Facebook
About us being over.
Thanking.
Stating that we'd agreed
(Half a truth)
To end it.

I'd helped her write one too,
And counting down from three,
We posted.
Changed our statuses from In a
Relationship to blank.
Then stood up and
Thanked into each other's
Last embrace.

Flag up as we went down.
No loud voices,
Only this mutual sorrow
And chocked sighs.
It was done.

Something inside us both looked
Up and asked
What the Hell just happened?  
I heard angels moan no...
I felt Earth shiver
At our death.

She'd asked her friend later
If ending it in such grace was
A common thing.
"Girl, you just ended your first
Adult relationship."

And she did. With class.
Tears of gratitude
For years of passion and
Friendship, and the music.

*We are, we are all innocent.
We are all innocent.
We are.
We are.

but I will miss
writing
in the afterlife.

it was the only way
I could slice open my veins
and bleed out my words
without making a mess.

Only if love was limitless
Would I cross it's borders
Blurred lines of bliss
Chasing unicorns and rainbows
To taste your kiss.

In reality, it's you I miss
Instead I am a prisoner of fantasy
Enslaved to a restricted affair
If I escaped this world, would you still care?

In the next lifetime will you follow?
Could you want me there?
Because if it was up to me,
I'd Have you Any time. Any place. Anywhere.