He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks.
The patterns of the history she hid behind her back.

Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom-
The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom.

In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked
They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back

For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought
Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.

In the dawn, I saw you there
With misty eyes and tousled hair
And with the sunlight flooding though,
I knew the summer scent of you.

You trickled yourself over me
The way the light pulsed through the trees.
And hand to hand we carried on
Across the dampened morning lawn.

Our pluming breath of spectored speech
Soared skyward towards the dancing leaves.
Gaze to gaze, brown to green
The morning lost it's sacred gleam.

Father and Mother, and Me,
  Sister and Auntie say
All the people like us are We,
  And every one else is They.
And They live over the sea,
  While We live over the way,
But-would you believe it?—They look upon We
  As only a sort of They!

We eat pork and beef
  With cow-horn-handled knives.
They who gobble Their rice off a leaf,
  Are horrified out of Their lives;
While they who live up a tree,
  And feast on grubs and clay,
(Isn’t it scandalous? ) look upon We
  As a simply disgusting They!

We shoot birds with a gun.
  They stick lions with spears.
Their full-dress is un-.
  We dress up to Our ears.
They like Their friends for tea.
  We like Our friends to stay;
And, after all that, They look upon We
  As an utterly ignorant They!

We eat kitcheny food.
  We have doors that latch.
They drink milk or blood,
  Under an open thatch.
We have Doctors to fee.
  They have Wizards to pay.
And (impudent heathen!) They look upon We
  As a quite impossible They!

All good people agree,
  And all good people say,
All nice people, like Us, are We
  And every one else is They:
But if you cross over the sea,
  Instead of over the way,
You may end by (think of it!) looking on We
  As only a sort of They!

I adore you
I adore the way you speak
so soft, so slow, so sweet
I adore the way you think
so deep, so true, so concrete

The way your heart races,
your pulse pounds through every vein
the way you calm me down
comfort me through the pain

The way you lick your lips
when they get so close to mine
The way you run your hands
up and down my spine

I adore the way you giggle
at all my corny jokes
The way you make wiggle
with every single stroke

I adore the way you make me feel
How you open every door
The way you make my toes curl  
on the bed and on the floor.

I adore the way treat me
How you make me feel like a queen
The way you make me relax
when I'm scared of everything

I adore the way you make the world
bow down at my feet
With you I feel so powerful
No one else can compete

I adore you with everything
my inside and out
I could honestly give my all to you
I adore you

i'm not impervious to the fact that
if the universe allows
i will grow old and die one day
i know that my skin will draw back from itself
the way picasso drew on canvas
and vines and creases will work their way
into my once fair and smooth skin
but when i go i want long flowing white hair
that brushes my back gentle as a feather
and lingers behind me like a second goodbye
hair that i can twirl into knots absentmindedly
an braid while bored in church
i want ink stains on my hand from the spilled
ink of writing poetry and stories
notebooks filled with the words that came
out of the sharp movements of my hands
and my hands
i want hands soft but worn
like my mother's favorite winter coat
i want hands that have held and let go
i want hands that know what the hell they're doing
i want toenails painted the most obnoxious
shade of red and mascara packed on like a
suitcase going on a trip to heaven
i want to be that old lady with the cats
because, let's face it, we all know i'm already
that old lady with the cats
they'll be named names from literature and plays
and i'll hope their names match their counterparts
but if they don't i'll love them anyways and
hold them with these hands that will have held
onto so many things before
when i go i want to have lived
and i want to have lived really really good

I bedded down with Frankenstein
I bedded down with Dracula
I bedded down with the Wolf Man
I bedded down with the Mummy
I bedded down with the Creature
from the Black Lagoon

and the end results
were a carbon copy
of fundamental flaws

hairy,
oozing with slime,
bloodsucking
homemade monsters
that wrapped me up in sheets
and laid me to rest
upon the catacombs
of their one bedroom apartments

but after feeling ghastly,
my decision making
became quite hasty
and acted
as if
I were the
Invisible Man
afterwards

maybe you’re 24 years old
but the clairvoyance of my mind
can read, in text,
the preoccupation of your own
filled with mad love,
materialistic inadequacies,
heartbreaks,
relationships,
the standard practice
to contemplating suicide,
stewing on the embitterment
of fleeting thoughts from
actions made by chief adversaries,
your appearance,
your attire,
your insecurities,
your petty grievances,
your suspicions of infidelity,
disillusioned to the poisons of life
and the fragments of clarity
the fog of quietus hasn’t quite
reached the imprisonment
of your own creation
and the blue jays of despair
haven’t came pecking on
the crumbs of your viability
you haven’t been through
enough ******* yet,
through and through,
to let that all go
the callow is seeping
out of your bone marrow
and written in scripture
on your 12 year old face