i
keep
thinking
you   should
be    taking    up
spaceinmyapartment,
claiming a side of the bed
and the couch, getting    up   in
the middle of the night for a glass
of water. becauseyoumake sense here
in the  soft  afternoon  light  of my living
room, in my  hands, in  my  heart. it's like i
had   been  running  for   so  long  that  i  had
forgotten how to   stop   my legs until you came
along, until you reminded me of what it was like
to           pull               air               through           the
e  n  t  i  r  e  t  y          o  f          m  y        l  u  n  g  s
and not just into the first  two  inches, until you
told me that you think i can be doing so much
more- that i deserve  a  life  bigger  than the
city limits of this missouri town. you are
endless possibilities and unfathomable
potential,   the  slow  simmer    to my
constant  movement.  please don't
stop loving my weak arms and
the heart i have    patched to
my   sleeve.  please    don't
forgettocomebacktome.

I talked about your hands
today, how such a simple
part of a person has never
made me feel so secure. I've
been thinking too much
lately about what I would
do without them.

I'm
s  o
sure
that every
bit of my life
has   led   up   to
me  with  y o u,  that
we   are   not   merely
two  beings  colliding
in the cosmos. It  will
always  be  you  that I
stumble on for, whose
words  I'm  sure could
cure        even          my
brokenness,   who will
always be in control of
the    t h u m p i n g   of
my heart. And I am not
a s h a m e d    of    that.

For
some
reason
this rain is
making me
miss you
less
.

i
a  m
positive
that   you
are  made  of
s  t   a  r   d  u  s  t
and  water  balloons,
oil  pastels  and  the
collecti­on          of
settled     sugar
at             the
b o t  t o m
of      my
c u p s
o     f
t e a

i was fine   before you so i
will survive after you, but
it's  just  that   i'm   having
trouble figuring out  what
parts of me have    always
existed     and  what  parts
are         your         creation

I fell in love with the way you slept-
the way you murmured and
reached out for me, your fingers
finding the tender spot behind
my ear and pressing until I could
feel my heartbeat blending with yours.

Lately                  my                  brain
has been fuzzy and I don't know
how to tell you in c a s u a l
words that I've got this
c    a    n     y    o    n
in  my  left  lung  in
the shape of your glasses
that t h r o b s  and  deepens
every time you are away from me.
What I mean to say is that I love you so
much it scares me,   that the fact that I
have  to  go  to    bed    without  your
fingers in    reaching   distance is the
main       reason  I  have       trouble
sleeping, that I am  obsessed with
the way your  mouth tastes like
home  and how  your   words
have  promises  of  forever
s e e p i n g  out  of their
endings.   Please  don't
f                                    
a            ­    
       l
                                 l
o u t   of   l o v e
with          me.

i love that your
hands have touched so
many things- rivers and
valleys and canyons -that
you have made sure the
earth is not your stranger.
please pretend i am the
streets of madrid or the
stone walls of paris.
please know my skin
the way you know how
our planet sighs during
all her seasons. please
love my rivers, my
valleys, my canyons.

please
move
slowly

you made me
want to go

slower,

breathe
deep er,
notice the
dots you get
on your   face
when  you  need
to shave or the small
fluttering in my chest
when you just said simple
things like "chill out" or
"yeah?" and now i only
want to speed up my
hours   until  i  feel
like   i  can   walk
without my legs
r e m i n d ing
m e        o f
y    o    u
.

I'll never
tell you about
how at night
sometimes I lace my fingers
together
and I pretend
they belong to someone
else.

You only want
what you want
and I can only
give you what
you allow me.
But, god, I
have so much
more to offer.

funny that we
become stories in
other people's chests,
that we can spend days
weeks months years
centuries carving every
letter of every word that's
been spoken to us on the
inside of our ribs while
others are content to just
let the syllables fall in their
normal rhythms across their
lungs and no they wouldn't
mind if some of the words
caught on a bronchial tube
or two but it wouldn't be
the end of the world if
they didn't.

but
i
like
the
way
my
skin
feels
under
your
hands

If I were to go into my own
head I would stumble blind
through a sea of your hands
covering your knees
and the echo of your voice
Because I love you. I do,
I love you.
would be deafening. I can't
fathom how I am even using
my legs these days.

I like the wildflowers
that grow in the rings
under your eyes and
the meadow that comes
from your lips. More
than anything I want
to swim in the rivers
running down your
arms and make my
home in the safety of
your large hands. I'm
finding it hard to
resist the setting you've
created just for me.