Love endlessly.
Do it forever.

Don't stall it,
don't rush.

Don't steal it,
don't give it away.

Live for it.
Do not die for it.

Love hard.
Do it with both hands.

Do it before bed time,
and with morning breath.

Do it once,
then do it again.

Love always.
Always love.

Keep it,
return it,
save it,

do not lose it.

Love endlessly.
Do it forever.

You look like ****.
That's a terrible color on you.

With your greed stained fingers,
the lights in your eyes set to "motion sensor,"

and all that jealousy
stuck in your teeth,

I wouldn't even miss you
if you wrote HOME across your forehead.

Because of you
I forgot how to write.

I used to drip with description.
They would try to bottle my tears
as souvenir.

I would scream at the paper
and it would color my anger,
punctuate my despair.

I could paint entire lecture halls
with the tangled mess
that came out of my veins.

Everyone knows that your prettiest,
most interesting and  intriguing
when you're failing.  

All of the geniuses,
the beautiful and the brilliant
thrived on torture

and it's so tragic,
the way they rely on us
to suffer for them.

But then, you.

As if life was suddenly fair
I wrote you into reality
and learned your language.

Summer stayed
and I no longer had the biting cold
as a muse.

It seemed I had nothing left
to say, and it's OK
because no one was there to listen.

But time is just as reliable
as you aren't.
People keep mailing me paper and pens.

So even thogh the mountains
and the moon
are staying in place for this one,

I'm blaming it on the dust.
This is  the stale, familiar taste
of waking up mid-dream,

when you try to keep everything good
under the covers
and away from the world.

I could go back to sleep,
or I could stay awake
and remember how to write...

They do it for all the things
that come in pairs
now-a-days

and for the sake of Christams
and zippers
and heavy objects.

They do it for the words
they haven't even thought up yet,
for the things
they don't know exist,

and for the sake of carrying on
about the dreary days
with hands to hold;

They do it
for the sake of forsaking
faking smiles
at fake smiles;

and for all the tongue
twisting kisses,
and mouths that remain
perfectly peaceful in their predictability.

They do it for all the miles
they would have to walk
and years they would have to age
if they didn't do it,
and for the sake of all that

They'll do it,
until their entangled bodies
turn to dust
and they resent even their ashes
for settling
on the floor.

Rest easy, sweetheart,
there's no power left here.
You can surrender to only
the most delicious of days.
There's something taken over the walls,
sealing our fate
into tombs of certainty.
We'll never have to make another choice.  
So rest easy.

I may have lost you
but I'm keeping your name;
I'm tucking it under my tongue
for safe eating.

I'll swish it between my teeth
and spit it out like alphabet bullets
when people say that its better
to have loved
and lost...