I wish I could tell you,
how everyone liked
the last little story,
I dreamt about us.

But you see, if I do,
then I'd have to wake
you up.

These days, I find myself singing
all those sad songs from musicals.
You know the ones, with the lyrics
that sneak up behind every line,
and melt something away.

If anyone asks me what
I’m listening to, I’d lie and tell them
it’s so-and-so’s new album,
because truth is I wouldn’t want
them to know it’s

*On My Own

I want to fall into the room with you,
pulling at our jeans and tee shirts
until we’re in nothing but our
white cotton underwear.

I want to forget about light switches,
cell phones, and my breathing.


I want you to have trouble with my bra,
fingers clumsy with the clasp.
You’ll mutter Jesus Christ,
and I’ll smile against your lips.

I want you to tangle your hands, in my curls
and I’ll spread my palms across your back,
mapping from your shoulders to your ***.

I want to run my hands down your
chest and see if your stomach tenses
when my fingers meet your boxer band.

I want to know the noises you’d make,
and see your face, when we fall together
into your twin bed, in nothing.

All I wanted was for you to not be you,
and me to not be me,
and for us to be another pair.

A boy and a girl,
who didn't look at each other,
like we did.

I wished I could be her,
and that you could be him,
and that we could be others.

The Neighbors are having a party again,
I can hear the laughter, and dull thuds of
music thru the wall.

I think about texting to you, to tell you it all,
but then I remember I'm trying to kick the habit,
go cold turkey.

The Neighbors are having a party again,
and I can hear how quiet my room is,
alone.

but when you ask if I ever write about you...

I get this rush, and I think,
about how you would blush,
if you knew what I write about us.

If you're, so hell bent on convincing me
it's all in my own head,
then how come every time
I lift my eyes,
you're already looking at me?