I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.

I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.

I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.

I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.

And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
Only...
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,

"I love you."

"I wish I wasn't obsessed with words,"
He says.

"Oh, me too!
… except, not really,"
I reply.

"You see, I have kinda, sorta, possibly, maybe,
(Completely and so very utterly)
Developed this odd sort of weird little “thing” for words.

Words, for me, are kinda like that guy that drives you up the walls -
You’re crazy about him.

He’s in every thought that creeps into your mind.

Every move he makes,
You want to pop into your mouth
And roll around for a bit,
Because you know it must taste somethin’ delicious.

But, you can’t **** on it too hard,
Because you want it to melt
So, so very slowly,
As to not disappear too quickly.

He’s that guy that does you somethin’ silly!

Makes you smile so hard
And do things with your body
That make absolutely no sense -

But, only because he makes you feel so good
That you haven’t a danglin' clue
On what to do with yourself.

He’s that guy that makes you,
Every once in awhile,
Lose sight of things important.

That guy that’s not altogether good for you,
But, you simply can not get enough.

--

So, I mean, yeah.
Sometimes, logic says,

If you’d just break up with words,
You could get a whole bunch more of your junk done,
Rather than dwelling on every single thing he does.

But, my heart,
Trusting my logic,
Replies, adamantly, saying,

*Yah - but, I don’t think I can.

Hey, Grass. What's your point?
No sheep, no cows, no dog.
I hate You, venomously
grow it
cut It
repeat, ad infinitum.
until the mower breaks
because it does, every year
even the **** Sears
fix it,
break it
grow it
cut it,
**** it.
Hurry, Autumn
**** wacker
useless *******
buy it
pawn it
grow it
cut it
**** it.
Blacktop,
the whole yard
teach your punk ***.
Grass.

I want a poet
between my thighs,
wicked tongue wrapped
in verse,
drive and provoke,
serenade
this dancing knot
of prose hidden here,
a hungry mound
saturated beneath a soft
cocoon of sweltering flesh,
suspended in expectation
inspired to spill forth
steaming compositions
sticky on his epic lips,
grinning.

And he’ll rise then
breathing a new stanza
onto my fragrant neck
“Sandalwood,” he’ll whisper
as he fills me with a new
refrain
emphatically taunts
my music
to sing down onto
his tightened fuse,
running rivulets spiraling
along his determined thighs,
crying out into his
listening ear,
a requiem so potent it
drips off the page
and becomes some reality.

I'm starting to dream in color
swimming in Silvia red night gowns
and dancing into silhouettes of purple and crimson.
psychedelic actually,
if you take the time to think within that perspective.
it's like a toned-down rave set in slow motion by overdose.
and where are you?
are you passed out on the lawn in front of some closed down swapmeet?
did the flicker of insomnia turn you off like a light switch you hadn't paid the bill for?
who now, will answer your phone or pay homage to your quips
or late night phone calls to God?
I wish I could say that I relayed the message
but my nerves never were enough.
I wonder if the angels ever picked up on the twisted games you played on their names.
Many people never bothered to decipher it all.
But on occasion I did.
When the time was convenient,
when the moments were dull.
I delved into it.
I tried anyhow.
Forgive me for never letting you pass.
For standing arms and legs wide apart to halt the inevitable.
I wish for so many seconds
that I was there to do something,
to show something,
some inkling of understanding through sarcastic grimaces.
To you, who will read this and play dead for flair,
may you call upon me from the imaginary casket when you get this.
Fore I do see that you could never leave like that.

I don't need to know everything,
Sometimes it's best to let things be.
When I look in my mirror,
I don't like what I see.
A coward is looking back at me,
Who proclaimed to be so strong.
But I buckled under the pressure,
And proved myself quite wrong.
And all the explanations,
Well they matter none at all,
You placed me on that pedestal,
Just to watch me fall.