if i were to lie down by the foam-kissed shoreline
turn my face to the soft blackness of a dewy night
close my eyes
concentrate on the stars dancing on my eyelids
i can almost imagine
the gentle kiss of the lapping waves
as your hand acquainting my waist.

they say to love yourself

but sometimes
it's easier said than done
when all around you
there is an eddy of
slim thighs

                      flat bellies

                                            long legs

and all you feel like
is an obstructive rock
marring the perfection
of the current.

by 6:49 am
the first wisps of sunlight
are slipping hesitantly
through the blinds of my window
the songbirds are singing sweetly
and flitting about the demurely covered branches
of an apple tree
its pale pink blossoms are permeating the air
with their faint fragrance

by 6:49 am
wet rings have been imprinted
upon wooden tables
left by stained white mugs
refilled with dark coffee
by bleary-eyed baristas
of a cramped city cafe

but if i leaned over
and kissed your skin
just above your dreaming eyes
i'd have done the work of atlas
with the effort
of a down feather
drifting dreamily upon a whisper of a breeze

if you were by my side
at 6:49 am.

you've knocked my breath out of me
in a manner akin to dousing my head with ice water
and you've left me gasping
wide-eyed
wracked with undulations of shock

but i suppose i've known it all along
that i'm just another drop in a vast ocean
nothing special; expendable

but still, your affirmation
leaves me hollow
like you've shattered my bell jar
and left me
exposed

and i'm waiting for that dull ache
that accompanies losses such as this
but i can't help but think
that those who lament broken hearts
are mistaken
because one that is truly fractured
can't feel

anything.

oh my god, close the curtains
something's gone terribly wrong*








and that, ladies and gentlemen
will be the show for tonight!

first gasp of air
wide-eyed shock, then-
the melancholy wail of a newborn
pierces through the air

and so words tumble out of my pen
confused and scattered, leaves in the autumn wind
like the first steps of a toddler, eager, but
punctuated with falls
yet it comes alive to the uneven beat
of the clumsy dance he pats out with his feet

how featherbrained, how ungraceful!
but he grows up to sit by a bubbling brook
a pensive statue,
while sunlight weaves a pretty pattern
through the wispy fronds of a willow:
a feathery net of gold that kisses his cheeks
and dapples across the gurgling brook
and i hope these words
will grace his ears in melodious harmony
with the sigh of the breeze.