Standing in the kitchen window late afternoon heavy in the Southwest United States and he is looking at her and he is thinking and he says it out loud
You are looking so much better
And more so much more
Alive your cheeks are less like the caves and more like
The peaches in the orchard that we walked before the innocence was taken

Through the window old trees converse about the passing breeze and there is a chill in what they say for it is never for us to know.

She turns from the pane and she looks at him and she nods her head and she says
For a time, before it happened, I believed that all things passed and that was so wrong for. Nothing passes, nothing heals, and nothing fades. It is all right here in me like it were the minute before. *She quiets for a breath.
It was not until after, long after that I learned this
That this meant also that nothing dies                                  she looks straight at him now
Nothing dies she says again
Nothing dies and I see the most beauty ever to weigh on my heart
in the face of an illegitimate child disappeared in a swinging screen door or in
the time I am alone awake before anyone wakes up
Or in the neighbors along the way putting a candle in the window for Christmas.             do you understand?
I don’t know why but I live to see these things
I guess because someone must see them. When they come I am the only one that is there to see. And when they pass, they justify my place here and right now, for I am the only one that saw.
The last syllable of her sentence is uttered in a calm note and everything follows and is right,
ugly as it is,
it must be seen and every part of the story is and will be what it is.

They in this moment in this place
among a million
always passing but never passed
always they share the same air, the same words upon this page.

*He has nothing to say so she turns back to the window and its okay and he thinks that he loves her but he does not say it out loud this time.

I'm floating through clouds of color
Skies of creamy tan skin.
I have...
A backbone to direct,
Gaps between ribs in which to lay my fingers,
A stomach to caress,
To lay on a chest,
A beautiful mind in which to rest.

Your eyes are so wide open, it's almost frightening.
The contorted, twisted confusion in your cheeks,
I want to wipe this all away.

Come here. Hold me.
I am your anchor. You don't need me
But I am here for you.

This is a very simple poem,
But the point is,
I love you.

he touches me like I've got band-aids all over:
careful.
he begs me not to fall in love so that he can:
misunderstood.
he doesn't know any of my secrets
and he probably never will,
no matter how many times I say them:
he doesn't understand my language.

we can stare at each other for hours:
patience.
we can sleep whenever we want:
freedom.
we can spend all the time in the world together
and keep each other warm,
but we can't shower together
or get the same invitations.

I know, it's difficult without speech,
or proper thumbs, or proper legs,
or knees or thoughts or being stuck
with lemon drop kisses that make
you want to scream they hurt so good.

I'm going to stop apologizing when my
teeth get stuck in your lips, and I'm going
to start drinking more, but only from the left side,
and the next time I look down at what you're doing
I'll just let you keep doing it.

You've got a lot of black hair on the top of your head
that drips down your neck
shining rivulets
makes pools in your collar bone
ready face ready eyes like
I'm looking straight at you Mr
You've got weird skin that you pick at with white teeth
a smile that spreads across your body like an infection
You say sorry with a downward glance
pausing a stare that presses into my lungs
A voice that sounds like the taste of a peach
lips that taste like the sound of turning pages
If anyone could taste them. Ha
Clothes wrinkle in lumps draped on your angled frame
awkward and embarrassed out of place they seem to try to slink off
They don't like you for the lacking length of you finger nails or the way

You sit in the doctors office

Askew           where the **** do I put my feet and my elbows?
hoping for something grim to come falling past
yellow teeth and purple line lips
parchment skin cracking a purse
(dribble drabble shibble shabble,
your face does something funny
phonetically
when it spews
truly inspira
ired bravo) my god be quiet
Mr dr sir
hoping for something To match the electricity in your head
Sit down for this Stella this is it is,
this could be it
I'm sorry
but
you know it's time to go
Cause they don't like you here not even love you
I don't think; I don't either and no one here
You don't either
And that's okay   you know   it's ok
It's time
It's okay

Stop talking to yourself
*****.

I used to pretend,
that the blue birds that found their way into my driveway
were all my pet
(just one pet)
(they were all the same).
I called them
(all of them)
Pete.

When my cousin
played with fire
I was always left to wonder
why I got burned.
He didn't.

Mom yelled
when I hit the driveway with a 9-iron.
She clearly didn't understand
my line of work.

Monkey is my guardian angel.
Always and forever.
His tail tickles when I touch it.

Again I attempt patience
Until home again we go
The unknown is all that awaits us
in Loretto other than snow

even when I'm with you I miss you,
but I try really hard not to when you're gone.

I keep trying to love you less,
or love you different,
but I can't.

I need some more:
s                              p

                  a
     ­                                  c
        e.

I want some more:

s                              x.
               e

Everyone knows you can make eye contact with glass as long as the lines are dark enough.
Lines. Not cracks.
You know the kind of lines that you only stare at because they're actually the scars on the side of a ******* addicts ***.
She talks about how thin she is
and looks down at her naked body
right where my eyes had been lingering throughout our conversation.
the fast paced dribble
seemed to only drain her more
and I couldn't help but listen.

We had the same color hair

She's the only one that caught my eye that night,
she was entertaining
and beautiful
and rotting
in the two feet of distance that kept us from touching.

You could tell by the way she opened the refrigerator door
that she doesn't like to eat,
and the shaking in her hands made you want to ask if she was okay.

Love:

the way the wind opens loose doors
a response whispered from eye to eye
my bleeding finger tips in your mouth
water: earth: fire: air: soaked in poison,
and completely fine.

I shouldn't have to think this hard to say how I feel,
but now that I know that you listen to what I say
I hide and stare at ceilings to avoid confrontation
because even though your back feels good,
I'd like to keep my pockets safe.

you're moonlight at 3am
and clouds inside on a rainy day.
you're a staircase in space
leading nowhere.

I'd rather be a stack of spoons than a pile of forks and knives.