I like to wear glitter                above and below my eyes          so that when he looks at me,     he sees nothing more than the promise of stars                 against the wishes                    of my dark skin.                        I'd like to be the                    black sky that he                      wishes               upon.

I feel like a storm

On a night like today, in a sea of shadows and whites, we ride thick on a camel toed carousel, tainted and unlocked, unkempt and hollow, we shake to the cores of your features, deep pallets of staining whites, we lay afraid and assuming, ready for something to roll deep beneath these  peppercorn brownie sheets. We dive shallow beneath assuming depths. Angled, silver octopus, arms stretched below your sea urchin ways. I wait infantile, an ever aging fetus floating through your chromosomes, very full and very hungry. This could be a stifling kind of like , but here I roam, free abd unnerving lushing down your spine

and we're giggling at the jokes we've
hit on the head and cracked as we watch
Captain Von Trapp sing songs about how
in all of the mischief he had caused as a child,
he must have done something good and as
Maria gives him a longing look,
Beck nudges the bulge of my arm, chuckles
and says to me, "all she's thinkin' is, you can
Cap'n my Von Trapp anytime Mr. Plummer."
hurling us back into a fit of whistling giggles
as raised as my penciled eyebrows and the new
heights his lungs has taken and through laughter
my eyes tear-up because in the mist of all the laughter
our mouths  fog against mirrors, I'm searching to find
what really is wrong with Maria-for her to settle for
such a stiff Trapp, such a character as Cap'n Von Trapp.

"You're killing me,"
I mumbled. And he pressed
my hips as far into his as our
fall plaids and jeans would allow
as we settled into the corner
of the dining room and the
mooning sun shadowed
through the plantation shutters.
Our breaths fell dark against the
gold tan of the wall. He held my hat
behind his back with one hand,
and the small of my back with his
other as drunkenness lulled
concern into his eyes.
"What did I do?" he said
as the halo of the tiring sun
darkened his puppy brown eyes.
His breath smelled like cinnamon
and his eyes were as full as the rising moon.

Cliché Walking-
His hands jittered
Struggled to zip his
khaki colored jacket
Her eyes remained
On his pained face
Observing through contacted
Magnifying lenses
Somehow their eyes met
Past the jammed crossway
The cluttered New York street
Through the busy cars
And zesty pedestrians
With spill-able coffees
And steamy attitudes
Somehow their eyes met
And the air froze
Still as the desert
Although the air doesn’t freeze
‘Least not in the middle of spring
Although the desert is attacked by constant wind
The silence was like a pin drop
Or something to that effect
Although with the zooming cars
And obnoxious New Yorkers’
It couldn’t have been like so.
And they knew
They just knew
Love at first sight
And all that jazz
Without even knowing
They knew.
He was her Humphrey Bogart
Whoever in heaven’s name that is
And she was his Audrey Hepburn
‘Cause he seemed like the kind that’d know her
And so this, the cockyspaniel
And the chickyhuahua
Crossed the street
And met each other
Halfway…
Right there
In the middle of it all
Cars honking, women screaming
And they swore to the depths of hell
That people clapped and whooped
Because the STD filled kiss
Was Shakespeare inspired
Cosigned, even
And the love was tragic as ever
But hey
What did he say again?
All is fair in love and war and all that hooplah

I kept on telling him
that his hands felt like
clouds until he found
my lips and told me
they felt like pillows
and tasted of sugar
cubes scrambled
into grapplings of salt.
He held my face
with his hands and
I was sure for minutes
at a time, that I could
read through him, the
forecast from his wet hands.

Everyone writes about coffee
The embedded love
The innate passion
That’s brewed strong
That’s filtered long
Everyone talks about coffee and love
Everyone compares coffee to love
Everyone forgets its natural taste
Everyone forgets its bitter taste
Its rancid lingerance
Its putrid flavor
Everyone forgets to write about coffee creamer
The artificial sweetener
The true romancer

subtle reminders are nature's best ejection of pain, i swear i saw your shadow overcast mine every time i walked. cowering rationalizations seem to weep as though it's dying sense of control bends folding branches down against the base of my willow. i've seen you with my eyes wide open and with my eyes closed and each time I skip stones against the walls of my memory hoping to eject which ever flick is humming on repeat.

Fifteen years old Corinne says that
alcohol is like confidence in a bottle
And she just ******* loves that ****
and I say, you know it's not something
you have to buy, at least that's what I've heard.
But I get her. To me, alcohol tastes
real real good until I'm drunk and then
it just feels like falling. And I get tired
of falling. Into things and out of things
so much so that I abstain from drinking
unless I'm in private and then
I sit in my closet with all of my hims'
and we get drunk together
and we **** to get her and
we fall together
like we get her. And we kind of do.

Weird how distance is such a relative thing

I mean, we live 15 mins a part and we can't seem to find each other

It feels almost as though we do not exist near

I can't say, won't say that I don't miss you, if you were to ask

.

the woman who helped me out of my car after my accident had a Jack Johnson tour t-shirt on and a pair of shades that she pulled off to meet my eyes, every time I lose faith I hum Good People and think back to her and her soothing, mother-like voice. I try not to think about the way her face began to fade the minute I stood before her. I try not to think about whether she remembers me, a solid year later whenever she passes the thrift store I was thinking about stopping in to. I try not to remember everything but her voice and Jack's as he sang me into a clear haze.

He used to call me
cornflakes
not because of the way
my body
crumbled in his mouth
but rather
for my
inconsistancies

He held me, left me and still,
I feel his body pressed against mine,
a gentle whisper. I feel him
even when he is gone.
He lingers against my frame,
a silent reminder.

you're breaking me and the saddest part is that there's nothing I can really do about.

I can't erase you
now that I've felt
for you.

Death by elephant:
they said I tasted
just like chicken.

It's a game we play
he offers me food
saucy ribs and a
mountainous heap of
of mashed potatoes
and a morsel of string
beans, he calls it a full
course meal. Dinner.
Meat. Starch. And veggies
but there's more meat
and starch than veggies,
actually. His serving size
is quiet hope and I don't
wish to break the silence.
I stare at the meat on my
plate until he finishes his
and begins picking at mine.
I leave the mountain and the
river of oil drenched beans.
I drink the water, pick the
yellow slice of lemon with the
curve of my spoon and
suppress my tongue.
He eats for him but mainly
for me. We have dinner and we
skip the desert.

I could
probably
fit you
into more
places than
one*.

now you know my name-
what'll do with me

I'm just sniffing your upper-lip
to feel what lies have begun to
perfume up your nose.
You'd think I'd be delirious-
what with all of those fumes
constantly shading me.

my throat is a
net filled with
butterfly wings
and wooden  
handles.

in the cracks of my mind
rests, bunnies fibered by
dust and flecks of gold.

Someday, those photos will look old, like when you recognize the pile of dust resting on a dingy book. Someday, those photos will look old, and you'll still be young in my mind, like every new word my mind pours from my chest to this paper, someday you'll grow old but my relics of you will remain frayed and new.

Someday, those photos will look old, like when you recognize the pile of dust resting on a dingy book. Someday, those photos will look old, and you'll still be young in my mind, like every new word my mind pours from my chest to this paper, someday you'll grow old but my relics of you will remain frayed and new.

I asked him
to stop singing
but his voice just
got higher.

I often wonder where
we've drawn the line in the sand
and why

Is it simply so that the winds
can have something to disrupt

elevators make me dizzy
and nervous to the
point that I lock my knees
and hold the silver walls
and hope they can't
hear me heaving. I hate
these walls. I hate these walls
and the way they move up,
so silent and unsure,
causing my chest to quake,
elevators make my nervous and dizzy.

I
am
only
a
fact
when
my
existence
hums
beneath
the
felt tip
of your
fingers,
your hands
lingering
above
my
chestnut
skin,
have
I
become
a
fact
of
life?
I only
come
into
existence
when
you've
made
me a
fact
of
your
life.

I stood tall on the shoulders of a ladder
lost in the fibers of dust that sprinkled across my face as I shook a thick feathered brush against walls when a young man whom I had seen a few times before looked me up and down and hollered, "movin' on up in the world, are yah?"

chucking my head upwards and back, I had laughed at his joke, saying to him through short breaths, "you with the corny lines."

still shaking with laughter, I felt my legs give beneath me and the thus the shoulder of the ladder beneath it, began to quake, before I knew any better, I had fallen  down to him, my body splintered beneath my wooden pedestal.

I wish I had someone to hold my hand and tell me exactly how the world works so that I wouldn't have to go on making so many false movements.

we drove into a flushed pink sunset
our eyes brimming with lighter shades
of red and smiles, uninterested in the
promise that fate brought and carried
by the ideas of each other. He seemed
keen to me both surprised by my
existence and willingness to bridge
into his cove of a life and pleased
by the way i fit so neat to the rhythms
of his beats. He splayed
khaki shoulders and thin legs
against netted lawn chairs,
happy to watch me laugh and
bounce with his lilac-haired ex
whose voice took on the comical
pitch of Minnie Mouse when she
was high or drunk or trying too hard
as she told me about Fidelity,
the tattoo parlor that she traveled an
hour to just to meet up with some
artist whose name she couldn't
remember but trusted so so much
and teared up when I told her about
my nose hoop that I had to get rid
of because some sketchy artist used
an earing that wasn't Nickel free
on me but swore that he did.
We had fun that day. He ambled
over when Glass Animal's
Gooey revved up and we
screamed the words into
each other's lungs, certain that our
breaths would swell each other up
and help us float away.

Above his head a golden halo
fleshed around his tight curls

A moon. One singular, lone moon
          -danced.

freckles are just shaded on moles
that are too shy to rear it's dainty heads.

one of these days I'm gonna say something crazy like I like you and you'll do something crazy like stay.

i once had a dream i kissed you on a ledge and fell into the deep seas of smoke that your lips erased me with. i want to be made of the lust you drag with, it isn't that simple is it

she covers mirrors to hide the light, only ever showers at night when she can't glow, stays certain beneath this winter's dry cloak and breathes heavy like a sea bended on her ex-lover's knee. she hugs the sky with her mind's eye and pukes in mellow shades of green. she hides in front of open doors, kisses her swollen feet, pounds her head against brick walls and waits to bleed. she holds her happiness within the browning palm of her hands and watches the ripples of the wind blow her away.

what's worse is i have no clue how I'll feel when I see you again. Will I feel the pits of my stomach? Will I hear your voice calling to me before I see you, will I ever see you again, will I ever even get to hear from you again. Is it crazy to say that it's been four days since I've been sober sans you and I miss you more than I miss tequila? I'm already missing you and its only been four days what does this mean to you, does it mean anything, has it ever, will it ever?