I would be lying
if I told you 
that I get lost
in your eyes.

Losing myself in you 
would mean
that I had already been found.
It would mean
that your eyes showed me
something 
that made me surrender 
my sense of direction.

Direction in life,
Direction in that very moment.

But with you it's different.
I dwell
already 
as a lost soul,
gazing through the windows of your eyes,
discovering a perfect me within them.

In you
I see my culmination,
in you
I am endowed.

I am not lost in your eyes,
I am found.

I have done everything in my power to become detached from the world.
Reassuring my decision every time I stare into your eyes.
My means of survival solely in the revival of your lips.
The light a reminder of the shadows that lay.
The past tense of habits no longer existing.
Thus-kissing you has become my favorite habit.
The more gently we treat each other,
The further and further away I become.
Throwing caution to the wind when it comes to you, each other-me.
It is through this perspective that I have learned to scream.
Scream every time it comes to you, scream when ever I feel this emotion rise.
This need to let you know that I am alive with each and every chance presented.
You being the cup that overflows each time.
Spilling all over my hands, my shirt, my mouth.
Traveling to a special place in my heart.
The horizon of a new atmosphere.
All of you in liquid form. Becoming a part of me.
And when you spill we both become terrified.
But not because you searched for me when at my lowest.
But because we were attached.
We were terrified.
Terrified in the sense that we trust each other with such sentiment.
The nature of what makes us, us.
Exploration the space around with loving eyes.
Our vessel made of tin.
The merge of planets happening inside of us.
Defying the means of gravity.
New galaxies lit by the sun.
The sun light of your smile.
Everything that happens within coming to light.
I have done everything in my power to become detached from the world.
Ignoring programs and other satellites.
Deliberately floating away in your eyes.
Detached from what was taught as the unknown.
New beginning

Maybe I love her more.
Then again maybe she loves me more.
To her love is a test.
I know I've missed my share of answers.
I looked at the clock.
Knowing I need to take my time but can't slow down.
In a time I couldn't think she hid my calculator.
Telling me to use my fingers.
I knew the answers, I used them everyday.
Maybe I love her more because I studied.
Then again maybe she loves me more because it was a pop quiz.
But thats ok, because it was open book.

Motivation to love you better

Gifts and corporations do not equate love.
Although I admire a certain aspect.
The after effect.
Everything being restricted to one day.
Three-hundred sixty-four days in comparison.
To show how much you love, how much you care.
The simplicity of taking time out to do something special for the one you love
out of sheer appreciation.
Price tags don't include how vital it is to bask in the same breath as your loved one.
The amount of time it takes
Creating memories that outlive us.
The moments we constantly over-obsess
How could they, they are manufactured in the same manner of restriction.
Mass quantities of fluff and chocolate.
All ranging from big to small.
A single day that lasts three-hundred sixty-four days.
Love is the rarest commodity and it's all of these small moments
That create the most memories.
The after effect.
In actuality.
The real holiday is to see your face light up at all the discounted chocolate
as we celebrate each and every day
The same way we met
Three-hundred sixty-five days

Your voice is the perfect song to listen to on a road trip.
To view all the things that remind me of you.
Miles away from the stress of work.
Your voice, the open road.
Someone I can love, no traffic jam in sight.
The goosebumps from the air on full blast.
To feel love when no love is felt.
A broken down car with someone to help when something is wrong.
The air tastes different, miles away from the city.
A euphoric high.
Your voice a beautiful path.
My phone thrown somewhere in the backseat traveling a scenic road I've never been.
No track of time.
The thing about disease is that you never know until its too late.
It spreads. Becoming infectious.
You've become my relief, my cure.
Your voice like the breeze flowing through my hand.
Your voice the only other sound that could be heard outside of the car and the road.
I've kissed the air a thousand times over.
Driving pass my destination.
Listening to the sound of your voice.
I don't want to move from behind the steering wheel.
What's a couple hundred more miles.
You guiding me pass every exit sign.
Enjoying the ride

some of my
dreams
stick to
my skin.

i had someone.

but
not anymore.
i have the polyps
of a false heart.
and a ****.

the
school play
of Hamlet -
I Have.

the
only bird
that knows
where the Trees
are.

I know
this.

at last.

but i'm fresh
out of
birds

and that's
the new
math.