Two lovers: tangled in words and sheets,
cower behind walls twelve feet high and deep.

Two lovers: lost in mazes of minds and
of bodies they only recently set free. 
Afraid of the fall inevitable.

Two lovers: and they can finally see
their desires are matched and are free.

I love you, one says,
And the other replies- breaking down 
walls she built twelve feet thick and high.

There's nothing left now,
but their two naked hearts,
their two exposed souls.
With their cracked an lovely parts-
Waiting to be written,
Waiting to be discovered.

Knowing all the while 
each holds the piece to a possible disaster. 
Because love once let in is not easily let out.

L E Dow 2012

Today, you're breaking my heart.
Tomorrow will be the same, I'm sure. The really funny thing is: you don't know you're doing it. 
So **** it.
**** this. 
**** me. 
Keep breaking my heart, 
soon enough I'll be numb as hell and it won't matter what we've done.

It's okay, baby.
Don't worry, I'm happy.
I found my plaster mask-
Made up just right:
pretty, smiling,
And just what you'd like
To lay your oceans on.

Don't worry, I'm numb.
And no no no, I don't feel that knife.

I've never felt more alive than I have in this moment,
Never felt less than that knife's
Cold spine against frigid mine.

We’re alone, together,
The rhythm of the coffeehouse swirling around us,
A quiet cacophony of colliding ceramics,
flatware, and the splash of coffe hitting cups.
Each lost, writing on legal paper
I buy in daisy yellow in a small attempt to brighten my day.
The couple to our right aren’t anything spectacular, really.
Even though they did talk about
The drug market when you left for the car.

Even farther right, at a table you suggested, I sat with josh.
We came in early on a Sunday morning,
Stumbling clumsily upon a place he really wasn’t too fond of.
Funny, as he complained of the coffee and décor, I wanted to stay more and more.

It irritated me: his lack of knowledge or the willingness to gain one.
With you I’m comfortable,
And secretly, I wish he was sitting there,
So you could butcher him with words.
Chop off his 70’s ***** hair, with one swift cut,
Because you always seem to peg him,
Exactly where he deserves to be hit.

I love the contrast of the moments,
With him, I struggled to see, wished for more, and searched for an end.
With you, skin is velvet, voices: harmony, memory a beautiful cacophony.

Today and Tomorrow there is nothing
for the People, but everything for the Poet.
fiery buildings litter our papers
and politicians of plastic make the rules
everyday grows dim as the sun rises higher.

A dusting of grim grey has begun to build
upon the faces of all,
Everyone crying out for peace and love,
Everyone preaching conspiracy and the end of the World.

Some people cling to a god, one that, according to a recent survey,
they probably know nothing about.
Others cling to the things they’ve acquired, a wife, 2.5 children,
a three-bed-two-bath house in the suburbs, twenty minutes from the city.
The poets cling to their pens, burying themselves in paper.
Hoping if they dig deep enough they’ll reach the bottom of despair,
to find the meaning.

But, the buildings are still on fire,
the politicians still plastic,
no matter the meaning, the grey is still growing,
building walls and hate out of grim grey that has swallowed
us all whole.

I’m sitting in my mother’s
Friend’s
Driveway,
Trying not to look like a creep.
While my Honda civic
Is hardly reminiscent of
*******,
My nervous eyes
And shaking hands could be.

Finally, they arrive,
And I realize
I’m wearing no make-up, my hair is wet,
And there’s paint on my arms,
And I have a girlfriend.

Mother
emerges, smiles wide.
I meet her for a hug, notice
Her eyes straying to my left ear.
“Do you like it?”
Long pause.
“I’m indifferent,” she replies.

And I think, if she only knew
About the black, black ink
On my right hip,
She wouldn’t be indifferent.

We make awkward conversation,
About apartment details,
Cable,
Cable bills,
Moving,
Gas and electric,
Avoiding anything evoking emotion.

As she walks away she turns,
Asks,
“Do you have money?”
I don’t say anything, taken aback.
“I wish I could have bought you dinner or something…”
“Mom. It’s fine.”
“No, no, no, here’s some money,
Tell Amanda hi.”

“Alright, I love you, mom.”
I say has her heels scrape away.
“Love you too."
She calls over her shoulder.

And she’s gone.

And I’m free to do as I please,
With ink, piercings and girlfriends.

But I wish she knew,
I wish she could love
The free me too.

Five days a week,
I sit in white classrooms
With hard plastic chairs.
I watch as teachers
Walk in
Out
In
Out.

I buy journals to occupy the time
To try and grow my mind,
Out of the redundancy of lectures,
Notes,
Homework,
In five years how much of this will matter?

Because I know I won’t remember
The details.
Just that I was in love
With the brightest star,
In the biggest way,
And that’s all that matters

Dylan plays softly,
As my ink stained hands
Map your milk white hips.
And we could play this game
Of push and pull
For hours.

I rake my night hands
Down your ivory spine,
Find myself Enthralled with
The soft plains of Your back
And we’ve been playing this game
Of push and pull
For hours.

I pull my blackened fingers
Through your silk strands
And I’m Caught,
Lost in
The soft moonlight of your hair
And we’ve been playing this game
Of push and pull
For hours.

I trace the structure
Of your face with my
Ink
Black
Hands.
Hoping not to ruin the
Pale moonlight it radiates.
Praying to keep your
Silver Skin
Pure.
And we’ve been playing this game
Of push and pull
For hours.

And your skin is still
Light,
Your hips still white,
Spine; Ivory
Your hair, still moonlight.

And I’m in awe,
Again, again, again.