Sometimes
when you're sleeping and I can't
sleep,
my mind races.
There are things you don't know
about me.

My hand
on your shoulder and traveling
down.
You notice
and turn around and smile
at me.

It's your
half-asleep, eyes-closed smile, those
red
red lips that
will keep me forever
silent.

There are some nights when
the music is a little
sweeter than the wine

Before I go into the cold I want to walk with you through the memories and kiss and drink and dance with you there and point at the stars which are really the lingering sparks that flew in my so many moments with you of anger and love and we’ll be sad but we’ll be happy and we’ll be laughing and we’ll leave when it’s time to leave because those moments happen only once and we'll know that and that's why they're beautiful but we’ll know we saw them and that they lit up the sky and we’ll be brave and we’ll be ready when we go into the cold.

Speak to me
Don't write to me
Don't write to me with those foreign, lifeless
periods that keep your words from dancing
like they used to
when you used to
Speak to me.

What is the difference between love
and a physical sensation?
Between happiness and satisfaction?
Where do they all intersect?
Why are they so different
but so easily confused?
Will someone draw me
a diagram?