"I'm scared of commitment. I never gave you the real reason for why I told you I didn't want this. I said things like 'i'm too far away' or 'You deserve better'. Truth is, I'm scared that you'll want to get married someday. That you'll want kids someday. That I'll have to see you die early someday."

"I wish you would let me pay for your hospital bills. It's the least I could do for saying sorry so often."

"I wish I could take it all back. You don't trust me anymore. That's why you're so distant. You don't trust me because I broke up with you and said it was a mistake right after. I don't trust myself."

"Just let me at least buy you lunch."

"I'm sorry you're so sick, but I''m sick too. I just want to be sick with you, for as long as you're still around."

"I've decided I want commitment. I don't want to get married, but I think we'd make super cute babies. Just think of it: beautiful green sad eyes, a chubby face, and my full lips. They would be so beautiful. Your eyes are so beautiful. I don't want them to be gone once you're gone."

"Ty. Ty please. I need you right now."

"I just miss you. I just saw you days ago and I miss you."

"goodnight Ty."

"Sorry."

branches run like the veins
across my fair-skinned arm
much like a dead one
am I unrooted
fallen, life poured out of me
a bare conifer still breathing
life into something
someone

in the rain-
darkness,     the sunset
being sheathed i sit and
think of you

the holy
city which is your face
your little cheeks the streets
of smiles

your eyes half-
thrush
half-angel and your drowsy
lips where float flowers of kiss

and
there is the sweet shy pirouette
your hair
and then

your dancesong
soul.     rarely-beloved
a single star is
uttered,and i

think
       of you

my love
thy hair is one kingdom
  the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers

thy head is a quick forest
  filled with sleeping birds
thy ******* are swarms of white bees
  upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring

thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
  of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song

my love
thy head is a casket
  of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
  innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
  with victory and with trumpets

thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness

thy lips are satraps in scarlet
  in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
thy wrists
are holy
  which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
  of silver

in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes

  thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

(could you feel it too?
each last part of me,
poured into the smile
i handed over to you.
because i don't know how
to speak around you,
so i figured everything else
would just have to do.)

to tell you the honest truth,
i'd give anything to sit
and be quiet with you.

days like this, i want to
apologize to the sky
for not thanking it
every time it rains--

(too often i got
distracted by the way
your heartbeat sounds
alongside a storm

or how your eyes
become cloudy
like it is
outside

or your smile
you can't contain
when lightning strikes
and turns everything
purple)

but you're gone now,
and even still
i feel butterflies in my
stomach
every time it pours.

i wish i knew then
i didn't need you
to make things beautiful

i.
maybe people really were made
first as one large whole,
then cracked into pieces
and scattered, so that
if we ever lose our sense of
purpose,
we could know that there is hope
in finding it in others.

ii.
maybe it is fate
that brought me to you,
something magnetic,
or just chance.
i don't care, all that matters
is that i have you--
sometimes i just wish i knew
who to thank.

iii.
it scares me how much i like
the feel of your hand gripping mine,
as though it was meant
to be there from the start
(when i'm with you, i always feel
that much more complete).

iv.
if you carry pieces of me
deep inside of you,
does that mean somewhere
i carry pieces of you too?

the appropriate place
on this exam
to
explain to you the way
that my heart
stuttered in my chest
and my words retreated
when you bent over my desk,
in response to my upraised hand.

Surprised,
I found that suddenly
the only questions I had left
had little to do with History
and

Everything

to do with the way
your ***
looked in your jeans.

my eyes
ask you silently.

i dont want the answer
the way i want you
but i can't
help myself.

can't help but
imagine that
this is the last time
you
will grace
me.

i can't remember
a life
without you and the
heady suffocation
of your
gut-curling, heart-pounding
presence.
you've clean-slated me
the way
broken glass can
purge human vision,

your intoxicating soul wrapping me up
in its heated hollowness,

in that warmth
which keeps me up at night
and makes me
wish i could
drown
in the heavy circle
of your body.

and i can't imagine why
i fear
your vanishing
when more often than not

you,
your soul,
and your broken glass

are
the stuff of my
haunting dreams.