if i was to
ever
lose my
right hand for
stealing,
let it be your heart
that I
suffer for
with my left.

I've gotten this strong desire,
of late,
to just disappear
thin against the graces of nothing,
into absolute nothingness
and it's abundance of
et ceteras.

If I were to take off my sweater
and jeans
and shoes
and socks
and bra
and underpants,
but not necessarily in that order,
you wouldn't see my skin
or the curves of my hips
or the bulges of my *******,
rather
you'd see the swells of goosebumps
that have begun to make me,
invisible.
I feel as though all that's left for us to do
is lay within the pile of nerves that
I've begun to shed,
and maybe in some hopes,
we can find a proper tangle
to wrap my legs within.

He may be vertically challenged, but he makes up for it when I'm layin                                                         horizontally.

the best thing i ever wrote,

i splayed across the lips of your chest,

the fibers of your hairs,

the pulse of your temple

t h u m p ing

and beneath my fingertips,

the best thing i ever wrote laid beneath your skin,

with-in your skin and deep, i rested open

above the best thing i ever wrote

fine songs of wine and youth

pulling away from us

sticking within my hairs

beneath your tongue,

the best thing i ever wrote

was us two nesting in a mango-peach

canopy frozen pre-spring and still

still fishing for the right word

to say,

**stop.

I think it cute,                          
you writing of a love you haven't yet
                       *touched.

lovers like me to slide real simple across their chest so as to not              crush       their hearts against my breath.         I've never learned any other way to love besides  so                                                     ­                              c r u e l l y