belly-laughing beer-drinking tongue-waggling
boot-stomping word-romping
beautiful bearded
golden-toned stories in my head
feeling you in my fingertips, my palms
the tip of my tongue

but in the night, in my head, in the moonlight
you dance.

let's hear it for
    these angsty
         weepy poems
from our broken hearts
  well
      maybe we should
pretty boys
      and pretty girls
we forget
   all of us
how fragile we are
     let's
         isolate ourselves
            in our feelings
(they hurt)
   when we forget ourselves
and love
    too hard
and miss
    too much
and want
    too suddenly
without knowing
   just how deep
we're digging ourselves
      when it hits, it hurts
our words
  are our
    defense
we mean them
i mean them
                   for you.
It's worth it, this
                       fragility
for our childish bliss
     in reckless, disasterous
                                                      abandon.

it's why we write these poems, you know.
we are a delicate
    and intrinsic
        and easily broken bunch.
when our feelings creep out
    like sneaky, giggling children,
and then someone
  -some of them
               don't even mean to -
crushes them
and we call.
   "wait!"
      we call
    "i didn't even know
           they got out!"
but they did.
  some people
a tender friend
a boy as adorable,
                     breathless
                           clumsy
                              and careful
                          fumbling, but trying
                                                as can be
cradles them
   delicately, in their hands
and knows
         they must be tended
well -
   isn't that
          why we risk
the crushing?

Come, then, to Neverwhere
A little piece
Of everywhere
Come, then, to be at home
To think your thoughts
To die alone

Meet me then, in Neverwhere
A quiet thought, of anywhere

Leave me be, in Neverwhere,
It's all the same, in rainy here
With stars and shadows
Birds and thought
Shape your world, from Neverwhere.