I long to write beautiful poetry
To have my blood be the ink of an incredible mush of phrases and clauses and sentences
On a torn piece of paper
Always torn
But perhaps maybe that's where the sticky sweet red stains come from; a tear
A tear in a broken mind
Or maybe a broken heart

But oh, how I long to write beautiful poetry

i kept our love
in the pocket
of my favourite coat
where it would be safe.
it stayed there
for days
just getting cozier
and more pleasant.

I didn't notice the gaping hole,
which only seemed to get bigger
as our love
poked at it all the time.
slowly falling apart
at the seams.

one day,
our love dropped into
the lining.
And I never wore
my favourite coat
again.

Your name hurts
six letters have the power
to make my heart ache
and I have tried everything
to make the pain stop
repetition
repetition
repetition
but it doesn't work
and usually the more you repeat things
the less they mean
but with your name it doesn't work
sometimes I get used to the pain
it is just a lull that I learned to ignore
but then someone speaks your name
and it resonates through my veins
and sinks into my bones
your name is carved into my brain
and when i hear it what follows is
usually pain
pain that follows the fond memories
and the knowledge that you're not there
you consumed me and left me with no air
and so here i am trying to breathe
then you come back and air fills my lungs
breathing becomes easier when you're around.

She will lose herself in a book
and find herself in poetry

She thinks that religion is a sacrilege
and that long showers are sacred

She makes love when she's tired
and never tires of making love

She is irreverent in her humor
and pious in her gravity

She is diligent in completing her work
and ambitious of her quest for leisure

She is the personification of romanticism
and the embodiment of compassion

She exists harmoniously in my mind

A common reflection
exposes a section
of a section.

Mirror Friction
reveals
Mere Fiction

Your selfish selfies
are always ready, never messy.

A pocket mirror, antenna included
is a perfect filter, flaws excluded.

"Am I the fairest of them all?"
You ask daily.

"I like you
more than most things in this world."
"That's too bad", you say.
"I was looking for likes (plural)"

I'd blow kisses off
the tips of my fingers
And you'd catch them
in the palms of your hands
Now you avoid puddles
on rainy afternoons
And I spend snow days
catching up on
sleep

You write math equations
in the margins where
you used to scribble music notes
And I write phone numbers
on the backs of receipts
where I used to scribble
sonnets

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.