...sitting here
across from me again
(in my mind's wishful eye),
sipping coffee together,
light talk, some danish,
and an omelette, too
(i made it the way you like it,
just for you),
happy to be here
as the flaming
sunstreak rise lights up
the tender tips of the flowers
outside the window,
i fingertip-kiss your lips,
as the morning bird
breaks into song,
waking up the world,
whilst you and i
carry on
and your eyes
reflect the new day's skies,
it's nice, it's nice
to see you...

the hardest part about
writing a poem about you
is that the words tend to
get into the way
of what i really want to
say to
you

Stop looking at me like you look up to me,
and start looking like you're in love with me.

Forget those spiders,
cut yourself free.

Get into my orbit.
Talk me through my destruction.

I'll distract you from yours.
I'll put on that tie you like,

and you will wear that black dress.
We will pretend we invented fashion.

You will get the eyes.
I will get the eyes.

Get into my orbit.
I'll tell you anything you'd like.

I wouldn't mind if you would cover me with night,
and silently rest your head next to mine.

Stop looking at me like you look up to me,
and start looking at me as if you can set me free.

I only see you in fevers of inappropriate dreams,
you only speak to me when everyone else you know is asleep.

I will make coffee,
you will bring a sewing kit.

We will talk about finding the bottom
of the human soul on drunken nights.

We will say **** the indie kids
and the 70s throwbacks.

We will wear swimsuits
when no one is around.

We will talk with good humor
about what we'd say at the apocalypse's final address.

Get into my orbit.
We'll compare scars and run from all our old towns.

Stop looking at me like you look up to me,
and start rewriting yourself with me.

How is it possible
    We are here today?
    I remember silence
    Before you sighed
    And opened up my world.
    Now the wind is all around my heart
    And sand enfolds your lovely feet
    Past and future moments disappear  
    As we fly
    With many eyes
    And wings upon the current.
    They will find our shoes
    And echoes of our cries
    Between the waves
    Children running on the beach
    And days we cannot number.