I cut myself on the future
I thought of kissing your picture
I detached myself from
lullabies and sorry eyes
only to realize:

I want to make love to you in November,
just before the empty of December.
Where snow blankets
and suffocating leaf-beds
aren't the only dreams
to fall asleep in our heads.

I could hear your voice trip
as my hands started to drip
around your hips and thighs-
You could tranquilize
with your lips and byes.

You look so sleepy-headed
Many words I have threaded
to weave a dream
desperately
but you prefer my
reality.

It's never quite right, he said, the way people look,
the way the music sounds, the way the words are
written.
It's never quite right, he said, all the things we are
taught, all the loves we chase, all the deaths we
die, all the lives we live,
they are never quite right,
they are hardly close to right,
these lives we live
one after the other,
piled there as history,
the waste of the species,
the crushing of the light and the way,
it's not quite right,
it's hardly right at all
he said.

don't I know it? I
answered.

I walked away from the mirror.
it was morning, it was afternoon, it was
night

nothing changed
it was locked in place.
something flashed, something broke, something
remained.

I walked down the stairway and
into it.

I can't stand the phrase,
"I'm fine." because
somewhere down the line
someone hurt you.

Fine is inadequate
to whatever you are feeling inside.
Default answers
bring up more questions
than *answers.

We should be **love.

I haven't seen you in awhile my dear
And now there's something I've come to fear
That I don't remember the smell of your hair
But at least I'd recognize that smile anywhere
And I might not remember the taste of your lips
But I still want my arms around your hips
But your laugh, now that is unforgettable
And every moment we're together, is un-regrettable
Oh I miss you with every fibre of my being
And I'm jealous of those friends, whom you keep on seeing.