**** this,
**** that,
*******
and every ******* lie.

That slid through your
crooked/cracked teeth.

My fists,
consumed with an
angry adrenaline.

Knock out em' out.
You're going to need
an oral surgeon.
Next line you drop.
And Pow.

Talk ****,
get hit.
No, get electrocuted.

His face, stone cold.
His frame, rigid.
His words, honest.

He told me to "Just grow up!"
After I jumped out from behind the
dark, candle-lit doorway yelling,
"Boo!"

I let sodium and water burn my green eyes,
I let the liquid slowly roll down my crimson cheek,
I let it settle between the crease of my pursed lips.

Then I said,
"I am."

There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,
‘who comes here to ****** our intellect?
Is his power so great we must reject
every other intellectual art?
The heart replies ‘O, meditative mind
this is love’s messenger and newly sent
to bring me all Love’s words and desires.
His life, and all the strength that he can find,
from her sweet eyes are mercifully lent,
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’

is that what poetry has become?
your eyes are like clouds
her heart hurts
roses and thorns-
stop punishing me with your incompetence,
with your ignorance,
feel something and give it to me
in more than one language.
if i don't feel every syllable
coursing through my body
in all the wrong ways
(you're a thunder storm, baby,
you're a forest fire under a full moon)
then it isn't worth my spit.
give me something filthy.
have a couple drinks and tell me how
raw you feel then.
peel back each layer
of your broken soul
and show me what you got.
it's not about love,
it's not about lust,
it's about how deep you can dig
when you know you're about to hit rock bottom.
give me something filthy
and write your name all over it.
write my name, too.

Take my hand and run.

Collapse under the blanket that is the night sky and let me count the stars in your eyes.

Listen as I tell you how much you're worth.

My words bear much weight and I fear that I will bury you under them.

Could we collapse under all of this? Under the weight of the words we are afraid to say, the fears what we are afraid to admit out loud.

Do you believe that our fears would swallow us whole; do you think the weight of our feelings will crush us?

Our bones are too brittle to support the heaviness of our feelings.

We stretch ourselves thin, past state lines, past Fenway Park, past the Empire State building, through spotty cell phone reception in the mornings.

We steal precious moments from the time keeper, who waves his finger to remind us that we don’t have much longer.

When we are together late at night I close my eyes and put my ear to your chest, listening to the beat of your heart as the seconds thump on by. I try to memorize its beat for those nights when I am so lonely and you are far from me.

Those nights are the worst. I can picture you laying with me, I can almost feel your arms around me even though you are hundreds of miles away.

If consistency is home, my mind is the wandering vagabond.