His hands
burn away at my momentary doubt

my skin becomes softer beneath his lips.

his lips taste like a postage stamp for an unwritten letter

with slowly drifting fingers, he writes to me:
he asks about my day with his palm on my rib cage and his sighs in my ear.
he kisses the center of my chest, and tells me a story about friends I've never met
he suckles my ****** when he talks about his alcoholic father.

and he writes goodbye with his hips between my thighs.

he provides no return address.
he simply signs his name.

fingers(deeply)
who amongst dirt
suddenly moments
point

steeply through drunk summer

rain upon lips
(fluttering dismissively):

memory to imp
(by blind words)

such wings, heart
leaves(roots)body

grassAndgrassAndgrass

become. (my dear that i have loved beyond poems to say)

.





































                                                       Your body is a word that I am mad to say.










































.

I haven't found words
que encajen a tu ser
I write poems
llenados de palabras de tu alrededor
where your flowers bloom constant
sin pensamiento de lluvia

i love you how one time you were the ocean i could feel sleeping amongst whose waves a girl.

I know a man who melted in the layers of my skin
And I will call him Icarus, now where do I begin -

I met him in the middle of the earth and all its time
A moment I cannot recall, a true forever's why
The wax from every question mark his mind could ever draw
Had taken on another form, a vein he never saw
And so it was a pair of eyes much different from his own
Became a house he'd recognize and even call his home
The company he found within enabled him to wake
A kind of curiosity he fought but couldn't shake
For underneath the rigidness his character sustained
Was but a man alive and well with everything to gain