Unorchestrated configurations of quantum physics
Held together with breathing
And pulled tight with whispers
Cosmology aside what's the probability
That your stardust atoms would ever
Find their way to my human skin?
I never knew someone could be so intoxicatingly combustible
And have such infinite gravity
Pulling everyone apart piece by piece
Then compounding us all back again
Into malformed crystallizations of protons
Orchestrated.
Held together by the air around your tongue.
Never pulled tight.

Your hands are ink
Staining all that you touch with your singular finger print
We all get lost.
I get lost,
In it's ridges and complexities
Perpetually held in wondrous confusion
You are black coffee
Pumping into all of my veins,
Alive
Like a rush of oxygen to my blood
You are my siren
Luring me to the edge
I see the parts of me you tore apart glistening just below,
But I can't resist
All of your music
Makes my memories of pain
Nothing more than a light breeze
Barely rustling strands of hair
You are a white sun I can't help but stare at
Even as I go blind
While I am a candle
Dull and lifeless
In the presence of your intensity
You are an unruly sea
Your magnitude uneffected
By my timid presence
I love you for all the reasons you hurt me.

She has angels
whispering devious
"I love you"s hidden under her skin. Their wings stretched behind her eyelids,
each word they utter breathless whispers of darkness.
Come to me.
They don't love you.
Passionate declarations concealed in the ridges of her mind.
Chemically induced reality,  
tangible sound.
Shut up.
No. Please. Come to me.
Be with me.
I'm waiting.
Waiting, making bottles
Of pills opportunities
Each medication possibility
Please don't listen to your angel
He's no angel at all

She is soft.
Like watercolors
And the gentle plummet
Of leaves
From cracking branches
Her words are fog
Cooly rolling
Over bodies
Enveloping them
Intoxicating
She feels like
Moss and sunlight
Broken by fingers of trees

I am a blunt axe.
A straight arrow
I don't trickle
I am a rough sea
I am thick red paint
Whiskey without the buzz
My words
Have the harsh cut
Of being choked
Devoid of eloquence
I spill myself
Out with the slightest
Touch like a wine glass
Perilously perched
On the edge of a table

She is a fountain pen
And I am a stick
Pushing piles of dust

There are canyons
Carved into my cheeks
By currents
Of brandy
Time has been no gift
My skin is still
Barren
Stripped of vitality
Hollow
I am hollow
Empty
Overrun with
Cold ocean water
But I am not drowning
I am collapsing
Atoms
Compounding atoms
Waiting
For the morphine
Of time

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth
As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things
Filled with my soul
You are like my soul
A butterfly of dream
And you are like the word: Melancholy

I like for you to be still
And you seem far away
It sounds as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not reach you
Let me come to be still in your silence
And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp
Simple, as a ring
You are like the night
With its stillness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star
As remote and candid

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
Distant and full of sorrow
So you would've died
One word then, One smile is enough
And I'm happy;
Happy that it's not true