so far away
and so surrounded by subjects
maybe he cannot see
how his brilliance
can still touch
and satisfy from afar
the smallest, most insignificant being
me.

she betrays her anger
in her smile
as she speaks slowly
of the sun on her picnic
and the distance
of his gaze

one second
you're holding onto me
like i'll disappear
and the next
you're dropping me
and hoping that I will

You are made of
photos of cities
places I won't ever go
Soothing-wistful on bound pages
Smelling of ink and dust
and spilled coffee.
That slips out past
clenched fists/fingers
down your spine and over the covers
Through twisted tongues,
and letters, and conversations
Come past your language barriers
Thin like vellum, thin like paper
And rest your heart in my hands.

I'd fashion you a pillow from clouds
a sink with the tears in the space-time continuum
you'd sweep me into your arms onto your horse head nebula
and we'll ride until the universe leaves us behind
with a flash of light and a silent bang
i'd pull you close and never ever let you go

in this city of smog and black sky
the cellphone on your hip is
firefly light
eyes reflected in dusty windows
the glow-flow of neon signs
and too-blue high beams
moonbeams on a glass pond

relatively speaking
I guess my tolerance level is pretty high
I bent over backwards for him
but the stress hasn't yet pushed me to the failure point
because now I'm Hooked on you.

the end
into the sunset
and the prince and princess rode
from hell
he "rescued" her
she screamed
the demon tore at her hair
and took her from her palace
onto his horse and into his arms
she fell
he came in the night
beckoned her down
once upon a time

You are my Egypt. Warm dry sandy skin slipping through my fingers, blue rivers dipping and winding under your skin. A heart of paradise and honey, filled with the spirits of kings and gods. Every inch of you is a monument, a shrine to some old glorious memory, untouchable by the ravages of time or even made more beautiful and valuable. A constellation of red stars rise over your back and face, spiralling into green-brown oases, cool and soothing.

You’re blinding. You are the slim strength of an obelisk. You whisper stories like sandstorms that could wear down a mountain.

You have a face, a curse. You should be put in a museum. Just one touch.