When these bodies are lain
under the ground,
I will still remember
the lines on your palms,
the smell of your hair
and the marks on your skin.

With no attention to time,
we no longer have to wait
for the night.
We no longer have to wait
for our moments.

The pattern of your body
is just as beautiful
and just as real.

It rings in my ears
the sound of your taste.

And the smell of your touch,
lingers on my eyes.

Your senses won't leave,
they're engrained in my brain.

Forever you've marked me,
a permanent branding.

Yet, with you gone,
I taste with my tongue.

I hear with my ears,
and I feel with my skin.

But I'd much rather
sense your love in my bones.

She stood on the sidewalk of 5th Avenue
with Central Park as her backdrop.
Her figure was perfect and
her posture poised.
Those that passed paid no attention,
too entrapped in their own speeds through life.

Find the stories within the stories,
she said. And it couldn't
have been clearer.
Search it all
and be insatiable.
Every crack and nook
in my soul must be
wholly
ablaze and full.

Before he dies,
he wants two
blue-eyed daughters.
Wild, young,
mesmerized spirits
who dance in pajamas,
put makeup on the dog,
skip around strangers
on the sidewalk and
believe in one true love.
Their souls already
live in his heart
and contribute,
almost fully,
to his
emotional breakdowns
and softened view
of the world.

September above
October below
your blue jeans on the floor
your stubble so close.

The leaves change
along with the space
between us
and our lungs.

Each autumn
breath we draw
confuses our airways
and our passions.

Your flannel shirt
left behind
before we had time
to make cider.

Gone as fast as
the snow came
your heart couldn't
handle the cold.

Gutter grates
and hotel keys
these are things
you see in me.

Fleeting soul
unchanging ways
my permanence
will never stay.

The hands tick by
and I don't come
the motion of
my passing love.

Sorry is
your fondness lost.
Affections
I always toss.