Contagious is her laugh
and vibrant are her clothes.
She likes bare feet on hardwood floors
and the smell of campfires.
Don't get her started on her favorite poets,
or you'll be late for dinner.
Bedtime changes-
her mind works best late at night
or early in the morning.
Consistently inconsistent,
but beautifully tamed.
She chews ice cubes
and collects mugs.
Somedays she has a hard time
seeing beauty.
Other times her heart can't
handle the warmth in the world.
Seeking are her eyes.
Longing for a member to
complete her heart life.
She picks her split ends
and paints her nails
brilliant colors everyday.
When her overwhelming
passion hits the world,
you'll know.

Staleness
(you must know)
is a problem
of the heart.

Stagnant at best
apathy is
(of course)
an art.

and days like this
i miss you more
than any other.
in this cold
i could see your           breath
and our bodies
wouldbecloser.
for the warmth,
of course.
your glove fingers
wouldn't fit into
my mitten hands
so you would
put yours
in
my
pocket.
on days like this
i miss you more
than any other.
this time,
on
any other day
we would be
sipping       hot     hot
coffee
and making jokes
about our past.
we would
probably
make a fire
if we had remembered
to get wood.
if not,
we would gather
all the blankets
sleeping bags
and quilts
we owned
and would make
the greatest
coziest
blanket fort
on record.
days like that
are ones I miss.
and it's hard
that today is
not that day.

The pennies and nickels
bounced loudly off
her cold, hollow
and metal heart.

Its valves never
seemed to work
and the steam machine
was down for the day.

Oil dripped into
her wheezing lungs.
Come clean me up!
was her only thought.

The pure, white rag
seemed so distant
but she longed
for its redemption.

She cried
tears of tar
and fell to her
knees with a clank.

When our eyes were blue
we hugged longer and loved fuller
until we cried from joy
our favorite color was beauty
plain and simple
our eyes stared at wonder
our souls were fields

When our eyes were blue
we proclaimed our love
and melted into the passion of the world
our fall came without warning
and shattered became our souls
our eyes turned dust ward
with empty comprehension
and we sobbed for the broken ones

Cadaverous
is my soul
blanketed
with blackness
freed from itself
only by grace
my organs had
shut down
and my heart
beat slower
slower
slower
til it stopped.
There was an
unexpected resurrection
a divine defibrillator
that revived my lungs
and kept my
dead, ashamed
heart ticking
and ticking
and ticking.

He raises his left eyebrow
when he stares at my face.
Is it seductive or
a pleased and
attracted tic?
To me that eyebrow is perfect.
So is his skin and the way
he hugs me from behind.
I am fulfilled with each touch.
And every word
I hear in his voice
lifts and pleases
my left eyebrow.