Tied to the mailbox,
no letters to come,
I wait for the
arrival of your
printed thumb.

Down by the creek,
near the old piano
shoppe I seem to think
of you and your words
as they roll off my tongue.

Russet brown hair,
and hazel grey eyes
I align your lips
with the stars in the sky.

Your meager frame,
and taciturn disposition
leaves me standing on the
edge of repetition:

"I love you,
I love you,
I love you," and I retract
"But I know I cannot have you,
take my love
to be like the moon
in the sky
above the stars
and you can sit on me
my boy
with the many spoons
and I'll love you forever
if only in this dream,
this abstract
non-existing
dream
where you and me
cease to be
but come together
to be one
my boy
with the many spoons
let me be your sacred moon."

I trace the ink on the edge
of this crisp & yellow envelope
and map out trace remnants of
your fingerprints

You are the sun
to me
and I reflect all your
beauty
back to you and the world
yet I only show this secret
to strangers
in the night
& to the stars
dancing their lonely
dance
waiting for a friend
alone
in this dark and empty
sky

trying to avoid the rain on a sunny day
but there's a comfort in this tragedy.
my closet has a bag of ******* the size of a child's body.

You're still wearing all black and it's hard to see you in the dark:
I smash my face against the window to try and see you closer.

It's useless.
I know,
I know.

Our laughter is the closet we'll ever be
and we're both funny people
but panic consumes even in light.

If I can stay longer then what's the point in leaving?

The forest is frightening
because of all the birds
that live in the trees.


It's useless.
I don't want to,
I don't need to.

Stop calling me the real one.
I'm nothing but a pile of bones covered in slowly rotting skin,
some painted and some that's out of my reach.

Those birds are going to get me
and when they do,
I swear you'll find nothing but cotton and dirt.

religion is dead
but the taste of butterscotch still lingers in my mouth.

I know it's freezing outside.
that's why I want you to hold me so bad,
it doesn't matter if it's you, it could be anyone,
but I know you need it just as much as I do.

I want to read you something
a little more meaningful than
a grocery list, and I want you to
smile more, but I want nothing to do with it.

I'm more situational than you seem to notice,
and I like how we can sit quiet and listen to nothing,
but I'd much rather hear your voice through the
haze of tension that seems to follow us, rather than
watch you sit alone on a welcome mat for depression.

I love you is a funny way of saying I love you,
but none of us really know what it means until
we know what it means, and I know how bad it
hurts when we lose what it means, but I'm sure
we'll find it again. Even if we have to be patient,
and scream a little, and **** someone worthless.

For what it's worth or how much you care,
I want you to know that I care, even if it's
only enough to dodge questions and push
boundaries and cross some t's or some lines.

You give me cold feet and hot cheeks,
but in the friendliest of ways.

Tripping on your wires
tangling myself in you.

Touching:
your skin:
so sweet
so soft,
so tender:
smooth as milk.

You shine up at me
like a thousand stars
your light strips me raw.

Soft as grass
sweet as sugar
you will be my only lover.

wondering what to do:
he broke my focus like a bone.

I wonder who I am,
who I'm becoming,
and how I used to be.

I thought I was just like him
but some lovers don't know how to stop.

I'm learning:

beginnings:
your name [here]
your pen [in my pocket]

endings:
the word God melts like a spoon
in my hands,
my hands? hotter than the flames of hell.
Suicide:
not mine. I  swear [this time].
this time we're talking about you.
I know you got tired of listening to the other things,
but here's me stripping it all away.
I can only hope you can hear me,
because I'm screaming so loud you could be my mother.

My heart is beating faster than these keys and
you are the power behind the beatings. .

hair drips over me like rain
open the windows and fall asleep with socks on
avoid the pain, of a twisted neck from where you slept.
wake up
I hear you singing
and smile
and laugh
and mash into the pillows beneath my comforter.
       give me something to dance to!
I'm alone and the dresser seems friendly,
still I take the weekends off for the presidents
some say sleeping on sunday is a sign of respect for religion
really ringing in rear-back
bare back
roads, and hills
of skin and bones
that stab you and grab you
goodnight!
                  it's raining.
don't you dare shut the window.
          I double dare you, don't want to share you,
but I will. the old shackles were beaten with brand new keys.
it'd be good to know a lock smith in times like these.

Showers of droplets
Break in sparks
On moonlit glass
Their wintery shine
Mirrored to a gaze
Spears of ice
Melting in the night
Trailing windows
With silver beads

pale lavender half moon
freshly bloodshot whites
dried pearls clotting in your jaw

Blow of an ax,
pine scent,
the winter woods.