tell me,
how does it sound
when my heart drops
every time
i hear
your name?

2 am; even the birds have gone silent
but you force your eyes open as if they were coated with honey
your voice drips with the sighing reverberations of sleep
it takes on a deepness that daylight doesn't hear
a softness gently inviting me into the depths of your arms
your slumbering voice could wrap me in its sleepy tone
like a duvet pulled from the bed on a snowy winter morning
and i'll bury my head under into the mellow dusk, lips curving up shyly
like a crescent moon hiding behind a canopy of leaves
and fall into a feathery cloud of dreams
enveloped by your voice
a soft breeze promising infinite possibilities.

gold
sunbeams streamed through
idle clouds across a lethargic sky
a hazy spring afternoon
beckoned for a walk
emerald
leaves played above our heads
tossing sunlight across
waving branches
weaving dappled patches of sun
across our path
rose
coloured cheeks, flushed;
a pulsing wrist
a shy glance
the warmest hug.

i don't need the galaxies in your eyes
to find myself floating lost among the stars
i am made of a million dreams waiting to ignite
i have stardust running through my veins

my fingertips tingle with a fire you cannot put out
i am a thunderstorm unable to be chained

and if our worlds ever collide
and if we share a midnight waltz beneath shimmering skies, please know:
i don't want you to send me to the moon
i'm already on my way.

i cannot fold myself
small enough or
neatly enough to
send myself through the
pixels on the screen

our connection is only
as strong as the
wifi signal

[backspace]

if you lock me in a room with your name written on the wall
all of a sudden
i will find it hard to breathe

it's easier to smile when you only exist in the tangles of my imagination
a confused blur of soft gazes and upturned lips and low voices mixed with
a laugh laced with alcohol and glassy eyes that glaze over my face.
in my head my thoughts maliciously fill in the blanks i could never figure out
tangled limbs and heady smells of perfume and glances setting off an explosion of butterflies in someone else's stomach
and i look on with impassive eyes waiting for your desire for a different kind of thrill to punch me in mine;
like a man faint from thirst i down cocktails of expectations filled with silky whispers or shy gazes into other eyes
waiting for the rush of crippling emptiness to pull me under
and it's either that i don't know how to mix drinks or i'm too afraid try something stronger
but its potency is next to that of water
and so i walk around half-drowned in a strange mix of grief and apathy
looking for your eyes in a crowd of thousands while trying not to look -
losers are the ones who care too much in a game of take then go
and i'm always losing because the irony is that i have to care to pretend that i don't.
i comfort myself by trying to force you into the shoes of a narcissistic trophy collector;
your medals are the company you keep and i guess you've set your eyes on gold statues sparkling with far more brilliance than me
but i'd be the villain if i saw you as one
because i've kept the polaroids i took in the moments in which you pulled back to help me out of the dust
when you shelved away your own inhibitions to guide me out of the dark path i was walking
and swallowed back your emotions to place mine ahead of your own.
i hope you know that i've set fire to myself in the moments when i wanted to choke the night sky with the ashes of the memories you've left me
i would love to immerse myself in the past to escape the bitterness of this present
but i'm not so disillusioned that i'd let go of what i've tried so hard to build to get me to where i am
and all i hope is that one day i won't have to pretend that i don't care about your presence in the same room as mine
that smiling at you would be as easy as it used to be.

oh, i yearn to make a leap
spill my heart out
but this is a tightrope i'm walking on

i'd love to ease the tension in my lungs
but with one wrong breath
we'll fall

it comes in the lonely hours of the morning
a suffocating wave of loss that leaves my throat tight
chest constricted
stomach rolling
i didn't think loss could feel physical

hugging my knees doesn't help with the tightness
i guess
but it keeps myself from breaking
it's not as good as the feel of your arms
but this will have to do.

i feel shy
when you tilt my chin with your finger
and explore my cheeks with tiny butterfly strokes
while drinking in the darkness of my eyes
my heart is fluttering fast
and you'll notice the slight curve in the corner of my lips
a hint of a smile, but i'm nervous
eyelashes cast down
avoiding your gaze
but my fingers are dancing
across the small of your back
travelling lightly across your waist
and up your chest
my hands
they give away my hunger
but my eyes are still shy
and i wish i could be a better lover
and god
i wish i could hold your hand

the snake in my spine
loves playing around my throat

it used to be that
i was the one stranded on an island
and with every perception of a passing ship
i would go insane
lighting fires
shining mirrors
screaming until my voice ran raw
it used to be that
i would chase down my freedom
like it would be the last ship i'd ever see.

but i'm on a ship now
and sometimes, in my peripheral vision
i think i catch glimpses of a break in the sea
where rocks rise subtlety from an expanse of shimmering water
but i can't be sure;
the sea likes playing tricks with my eyes
and anyways
i'm not the captain of this ship.



(but i think i prefer the island)

there are good days
and i can love the sun beaming at my laugh
i can feel the canine affection
as the wind playfully tousles my hair
i can sing along to the sweet melodies
that the birds chime into the air
there are good days

but there are days when
the sun seems to stay in the sky for too long
and its malignant rays seem to pierce my eyes without mercy
and when night,
blissful, dreamless night,
finally sets
all i can hear is the echo of a tap
drip

          drip

                    dripping

its hollow notes a dull ache in my mind
where i reel with a tempest of self hatred
while i bite my knees
and rock to and fro to the eddies of worthlessness;
i am losing.
i'm fighting, believe me,
i'm fighting
but my arms around my knees
and the movement of my body
is a dull sword
and i am tired, so tired

but there are good days



There are good days.

but all the sad things
sound the most poetic.

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.