a hand held across the table
a paper bag of alaskan candy
a pair of tickets in a red envelope
a daffodil rescued from the street

"can't I just look at you?" you asked me when I tried to get you to focus on your food, the most mischievous little smile on your face

(if you asked me again what you asked me in february -
I don't know I don't know I don't know)

it goes without saying that I'm afraid of the depth of my own capacity to hurt people
I am a sailboat made of paper, I am a terrible idea
I am everything everyone I have ever loved has left behind,
the pieces that don't fit, the muddy debris

I'm afraid of my own fear, I'm afraid that I will deny you
and that it will leave wounds in you deeper than any you've ever had
I'm afraid about feeling guilty about being with you
and I am afraid because I can't see how my parents could ever know

(despite it all, there's still my body, like an animal, looking at your lips and hips and eyes and hands, whispering
I want, I want, I want)

How much is a memory?
Burned feet on the hot concrete?
A skinned knee or a papercut?
Maybe it's the wasted nights, or a dead phone,
Lonely nights spent at home
Waiting on something to "be"
Something worth being happy,
Until you find it, and smile,
The one memory that makes it all worthwhile.

My lifeline is a boy who doesn't exist.
A made up dream thought up by a kid.
His dark hair the hills of soil for my flowers.
His gaze the river I could float in for hours.
His enchanting eyes the moon that shines in the dark.
His pink lips the shade of my Bleeding Hearts.
His freckles the ladybugs that land in the garden.
His smile the reflection of the sun on the pond.
His heart beat the rhythm of my feet as I run.
His voice the call of a summers day.
His back the tree I use to reach for the skies.
His hands the branches I use to climb.
His arms the fortress surrounding my fragility.
His chest the pillow where I weep.
His legs the wings that steer me home.
His mind the temple where I roam.
His heart the bed where I rest.
His "I love you" the one that knows me best.
My lifeline is a boy who doesn't exist.
A made up dream I thought up,*
*that's it.

Beer will cause a fool to bray amongst his kin like a "Jack ***"..
Hard liquor will alert the entire town of his alter-ego !

Good morning Mister Fireplug , hope you slept well ..
My loyal silver sentry , I pray we never seek your help !