Could you love me?
No, of course not.
Your spirit is reckless and wild,
And no lover's touch could tame you.

You stay up all night just to watch the sun rise.
You're too late.
You fall in love with long-legged women
In cities you're just passing through.
You howl at the sun,
Begging for rebellion.
We know you better than you do.
You long for a hand to hold,
A hand to release you,
A hand to pull you from the edge,
And hand to push you off.

Maybe you could love me.
But I could not love you enough
To let you go.

Some days I fear that the poet in me
Has killed herself.
Today was not one of those days.

Today I opened my heart,
Who in return opened my eyes.
I drifted into the middle of a Massachusetts river,
The horizon separating marsh weeds from sky.
A child, pure as a pearl,
Sang lullabies from my lap and called out my name.
I kissed her salty cheek and my soul flew.
The wind blew my auburn hair and I was free.

A gentle paddle in an old kayak,
The only sounds being that of my oar.
Splash, whoosh, splash, whoosh.
I was at peace with the world,
And more importantly,
I was at peace with myself.

A camera could not capture the race of my heart
Nor the glimmer in my eyes.
Love and belonging and bliss lap against my shores.

Last night,
I succumbed to the anaesthesia
Of the breaking dawn.
I dreamt of you beside me,
My fingertips caressing your shoulder blades,
Running up and down your spine,
Playing your vertebrae like an ivory-keyed piano.
I could nearly hear the sound of your breath,
Peaceful and steady,
The nightmares dissolved.
When I awoke
In my sleep-deprived stupor,
I smiled at you,
Though you did not rest beside me.

We drink coffee on a rooftop in Edinburgh.
We've been awake for so long
That sunrise has become sunset.
(Or is it the other way around?)
I long to press my lips against every inch of you,
Inked and bare,
Until nothing is left uncorrupted.
I will not come down
Before we have felt each other everywhere,
At last at peace with the skin we hate most.
My heart races for you,
Like some sort of manic tribal drum,
And you smile,
That sheepish little smile.
My capillaries coil around your finger like wires.
I am yours, purely yours.

Let the storms erupt,
Let the clouds turn to ash and dust,
Let the world collapse within itself.
We will raise the sky together,
Stars and fire and all,
In our caffeinated stupor and young vigor.
We're only getting older now.
We can be fools.
We should be fools.
We could jump from this rooftop
Or we could take the stairs.

It's all a big cliché, isn't it?
Meteor showers, shooting stars, wishes.
Are you watching it too?
I've never been the perfect girl;
I've more flaws than I do gnawed fingernails.
But I could do so right by you.

I stood in the middle of an insect-riddled field,
Light pollution seeping into my panoramic view.
Infinitesimal stars and hopes and dreams around me
And yet all I wished for was you.

I grew up with the silly idea
That boys would write poetry
For the girl in the back of the coffeeshop.

It’s far from romantic
The countless times I’ve walked that road,
Entered that C- bakery,
And rested my elbows on a wobbly table.
Once, I twisted my ankle,
Caked my jeans in mud and embarrassment.
Another time, I fell in a puddle.
Nobody helped me up or dried me off.
Hundreds of dollars wasted on cheap coffee
That only kept me up long enough
To realise how low I was.

I wrote poems for boys in the coffeeshop,
Adam and all the rest.
They didn’t write any for me.

A time zone or two
And an ocean of blue
Keep us from holding our breath.
We’re fire and ice, you and I,
Can’t you see?
Longing for warmth,
Melting too quickly.
My suffering ends
And your depression begins.
My happiness fades
And yours starts anew.
I’m always down
And you’re always up,
Or it’s the other way ‘round.

But I’m still so in love with you.