I am a girl cut out of marble.

He is a boy made of copper.

I am a girl so starved
I gorge on air.

He is a boy with a belly full of
Unlucky pennies.

I am a girl with a mouth full of hornets.
They sting my gums.
I talk around the swelling.

He is a boy with wooden legs.
I wonder how he doesn't splinter.
How he doesn't burn.

I am forged from fire.
My lungs blacken and
My skirt billows like the smoke
Coughing out of a chimney.

He ripples like water.
He is always moving.
He walks like ocean waves
And I am pulled into his tide.

He is the boy on the moon
Throwing his fishing line into the sea of stars.
Somehow he catches me.
A black hole amongst galaxies.
There is no way this can end well.

I am a black hole.
I swallow.
I take.
I never give back.
I hope this won't be a problem for the boy on the moon.

He is a ghost of kiss
Still pressed to my neck.
A reminder of what was.
Of what could be.

I am a phantom
Wallowing in this mortal plane.
I am a black shadow.
The thing you see out of the corner of your eye.

He is a boy with a tongue so sharp
It could be used as a sword.
I'd follow him into battle.

I am a girl with a wild mane
And a tamed heart.
Looks can be deceiving.

He is a boy with teeth made of honey.
How did he get so lucky?

I am a girl whose most prized possession
Is a scuffed pair of boots.

He is a boy who is more metallic than sweet.

I am a girl who was not made to be touched.

He is a boy.
I am a girl.
Sometimes we intersect.

I come from
Bleeding gums
Skinny arms
And ketchup smothered chicken
From dyed blue hair
And chipped black nail polish
From
"There’s no use crying over spilt milk"
And
"You’re not the first person to fail history"
I come from
Cracked bathtubs
Cracked skulls
Crooked teeth
Oversized sweaters
Overly sweetened tea
From diabetes
Breast cancer
And depression
I come from black heads
And pimples
Frizzy hair
Half filled journals
Half empty coffee cups
Purple lipstick
Scars from dropping the oven mitt
Seared flesh on wrists
I come from
Cigarette smoke curling under summer skies
From fake fire places
Freshly baked cookies
Poetry in the form of blood cells
From mental hospital stays
From blinding headaches
That vibrate through teeth
I come from
Pentacle necklaces
And pearl bracelets
Apple perfume
New York City visits
I come from
Trees
And grass
And flowers
I come from the beach
From salty air
And sandy toes
I come from everywhere
And I’m going nowhere

When the strings stop strumming
Where does the music go?

Steady, pulsating drips
Form a cacophony of tiresome
Drifts of time
Winding down the twirls of
His paintbrush the trials of
Liquid resonance.
Pattern-less,
The degenerate.
Out of touch with reality,  
The artist,
In shambles.
Dialysis.

Scribble, scribble, let the pen
Strike infinite scripts
Of ancient runes in syncopatic grooves  
Spilling my roots
In open blends of hues
Transfused and
Transfixed in haze
The truest fade
It bade me to tip - toe
Amongst hybrid visions
Indigenous to the deepest blues
The realest thing to me and you
Is the mind and spirit...
The mind and spirit...
The reciprocal.
The body.
Peripheral.

When the sun hid behind
a cover of trees
You shone with the intensity
of the full moon.
Stars in your eyes
like twilight skies,
Beetlejuice, Orion's belt;
the big and little spoons.

They say you can't get to where you're going without a map,
Can't get to places with path,
I may not know where this may lead,
Getting lost in your words,
Tell me the way home,
Where wandering minds like ours roam,
But it's as if even your last train of thought,
Is where I latch on and get caught,
Caught on to you,
And noticing the little things you do.

Sometimes my best poems
Are better left unsaid,
Forgotten in my memory
For the rest of you
To read in me.