“I don’t believe in love”
She says

As I speed through a yellow light
She presses her first ******* to her lips
Then touches the roof of my car with them
She shuts her eyes

I don’t ask her why
I just trust her intentions

In the same way I don’t believe in anything myself
Save for the passion that takes hold of others
When they believe

I like what that looks like

The word believe when broken down
First means to live
“Be” means to exist as
Or to live

And “Lieve” means love
And I think about the bravery it takes
To believe in anything
And the bravery it takes to love
And how that same bravery is made by love

How many stupid things have we done
Just by loving someone?

How many arguments are there against a belief
In anything?

I don’t believe in god
But I believe in you

When I watch you do things
Like superstitious knee **** reactions
To keep the light yellow a little longer

So on the ride home I do the same thing
As the sun bends it’s yellow into red over a horizon
That is kissing our sunburnt necks

Because I want this car ride to last a little longer

Even though we say nothing
And you don’t ask why for the last fifteen minutes
I’ve had my fingers pressed to the roof of my car
A satisfied smile pressing back my cheeks

You just trust that I feel this means something

So maybe you don’t believe in love
But you believe in something
And by doing so
You are partaking in love on some weird level
Subconsciously
Like breathing

But I want this car ride to last a little longer
So I say nothing
Let the wind **** the silence like white-noise
It’s as close to prayer
As either of us
Will ever get

I was lying in bed with him
after we had both come.
In the pitch black, I had to
use my hands to see his face,
trace his
eyes, lips, cheeks, the shape of his head.
We were silent but for our breathing.
His rumbled ever slower
and I knew I had to act
before sleep captured him.

The words were so potent
I could feel them in my mouth,
A heavy weight pressing on my tongue.
I opened my mouth to
spit them out, but
my brain was too powerful
and kept them locked in,
snapped my jaw back into place.
I swallowed as
I felt his breathing deepen.

I held it in as long as I could.
But the force from my pounding heart
won the battle against my brain
and before the defeated could rise to try again,
My mouth burst open on its own
and I heard the words tumble out of my mouth
as clear as the sun.

"I think that maybe I love you."

What is there to do
with time you are wasting away?
Sit transfixed to a seat
uncomfortable from wear,
picking scabs of today's work.
Todays that have turned into
years.
Years of wishing for
tomorrows.
Tomorrow's bell ringing your ears.
Wetting your eyes.
Friction between lung and bone.

What are you doing
wasting your time not staring at stars?
Feeling terribly small
and just as large while holding a child's hand.
Writing stories about the dead
while your lovers live in attics.
Trip though snow and
fall into water's embrace.
Tell your mother you love her and
kiss the forehead of your father.
Run through airports to
fly through trees.
You must sing through fog.
Sing while naked in the fog.

What are you doing
passing the truth as fiction?
Winking and crossing fingers
while standing in intersection.
You must catch yourself on fire
to be humble enough to love.
Jump off building to test your faith.
Sleep on the roof and embrace fear's power.

What is there to do with
all the time I am wasting away?

Amelia
with the
tender
Tom Hardy lips
picks
at things.

Scabs.

The peeling leather
on her
steering wheel.

The frayed edges of the hole in her denims
that's as gaping
as a zipper mouth,
and looks
just
as
vicious.

Boys she likes
and likes
not at all.
(Men that call her "sweetie.")

Amelia's delicate fingers
and the ballet of her fingernails
warp bruises
into rose vaginas.

And make hurt
smell
good,
and decay
taste like
the wet of your first girlfriend
and the sweet odor of fear
she let off
when your tongue searched
and she lay there--
legs cocked on your shoulders--
quiet,
never sighing.

Amelia hasn't found anything
that scares her good and healthy yet.

When she does
she'll know love,
and I'll stop thinking about her.

You're no good for scheduling but ideal for dancing.
While night tricks us into invincibility, whiskey tells us not to wait.
So educate me on the nonsense of foreplay to a friend's poetry,
And we'll lose our jobs over bongos and stale beer,
Trading tips for one second tears.

You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine,
I'll take a receipt for time lost between sheets,
While bruises take the place of scars.

Just as my dimples look more mature in the morning,
You sound better when your hands talk.
So I'll degrade a dollar for last night's sake
and the irony of grandpa in the morning.

Then we'll kiss what should be left on the floor,
And I'll keep you somewhere safe where I'm bound to lose you anyway.


I hope you find your keys :)