i really, really, really have no place in thinking you're a ******

given the bed i sleep in most nights.


but,

since i'm seeking a convenient justification:


you silently abandoned ship

as if i know how to read a ******* map or shapes in the stars



regrets, resentment, apologies

what's the point

not worth it



i've got more love for you than i'll never know what to do with

even when i'm already climbing the next tree and you are god knows where



unconditional was not a lie.

asking all the questions but the hardest one

-           -           -          -          -

when you say you want to cry because you’re sorry, i want to weep because i don’t believe in apologies

-           -           -          -          -

the almost blue sky is suffocatingly beautiful. unfamiliar bed and an all too familiar feeling. limbo limbo limbo under this invisible bar;backbending for the small things, the intangible things. like the dark green around your iris, or the slight, instinctual brush against my cheek.giveandtakegiveandtakegiveandtake,give

-i love you

-i can’t answer that truthfully

-           -           -          -          -

i walk outside in the dark and there you are, blowing dandelions with your back on the grass, a friend who shows up when i don’t realize i need it

-           -           -          -          -

‘you seem like the type of girl who has never had to watch a dream die’

-           -           -          -          -


justification for not sleeping: why the **** break a perfectly handsome insomnia streak? also, music.

-           -           -          -          -

roofs, cigarettes, porches, cigarettes, satisfyingly self destructive habits, Tom Waits, coffee black as the nicotine inside

-           -           -          -          -


or whatever.

i finally grew a voice,
and it scared you away.


romance////

the promise of lips upon mine will be the last ******* thing holding me to this
planet.

my dad says, the McGinnis curse is our undying, romantic hearts.



i said the 3 words

and i think he's right.

your beauty is not
hollow

starlit and soft,
kiss me clear as your half Brazilian eyes
clear as laughter that fills me:
i am your cup
press your lips to my edges and
drink.

liquid turns solid turns gas
the properties are the same,
as is love
changing but not changed.

if heaven is not liberation,
heaven is our cheeks brushing just as they should.

i'm too drunk to tell you i love you

whiskey runs in hot waves, but never makes it to the coldest parts

the contrast sends me
fumbling.

high above these doubtful clouds,
your wet lips could bring me down

the place that feels familiar on the back of my tongue ---

new, like a drop down the window



your voice,your voice,your voice

i can feel your art
it's in the heartbeat of your palm

warm,
alluring

a springtime thunderstorm that might drizzle or might defiantly dump

i'd stand with outstretched tongue
if only for one
                                                                 drop

of your honeydew compositions   ;   sunflower symphonies.


darling,
your diamond skin is

                                                                devastating

as you dream in orchestrated swells.


i can feel your art
when our heartbeats caress

take it off,

dump it on my floor. let the the sound of the thud

fill us both.


excited heart in the dark;

i know your presence is more or less an apology

a sorry for not calling or not thinking or not knowing how to let your love lay just right


eyes closed so that you can have the satisfaction of surprise. as if my body doesn’t leap into exaltation the second you enter my orbit


this bed is miles long as you arrange yourself on top ,

snowflake lips upon neck and the unadulterated words:

Hi pretty.



forgiveness.