I like to read love poetry to help me fill in your outline.
Love poetry meaning,
I got my guts kicked out by a falling star the other night.
Your sweater came unraveled after a dose of moonshine.
Someone forgot to turn on the Eiffel Tower again
(they must have flipped my switch instead).

I guess what I'm trying to say is,
I'm holding myself in a continuous state of
"why can't you just take out the garbage"
and
"my garbage
(socks and kleenex and so many strands of DNA)
is all over your floor and maybe I'll pick it up later"
and
"leave it, don't touch it, so perfect, right now, even if it's ******"
and
"I found this box and I want hide every remnant of any interaction and I make big messes but every Sunday is my cleaning day and I will remove every trace of you and me and socks and I and intertwined DNA"

I like it when my guts scream.
Not from the Indian food
(no thank you)
but from my imagination,
always four score and seven years of full speed ahead.
I like to think my mucosal membrane knows how to respond
when assaulted with good life intention.

Hard cold sweat beads dribble down the frame of my face
My mind in a frantic race against time.
Will I make it?
Will it be too late?
My body rounds the corner at full force,
smashing into nurses,
the contents of their trays now sprawled throughout the hallway.
No time to stop.
I must keep moving.
I make my way to the elevator,
too crowded, I head for the stairs.
Never stopping,
faster! faster!
Fifth floor.
sixth.
seventh.
eighth.
As I reach the ninth floor, I begin to sprint.
Not stopping.
All heads turn in my direction.
I am almost there.
Room 201.
202.
203.
As the spray painted silver numbers 204 flash in front of my face,
I bound through the door.
I am instantly numb.
The sight of you in a hospital bed,nearly lifeless, pale, and fragile, brings me to my knees.
Just a couples weeks earlier you were so full of energy, so.. happy.
As I walk closer to your bedside,
the full image comes into focus.
Laying there so still, so quiet, any slight change of breath would be noticed.
You have no hair.
A place where once my fingers loved to graze,
a place filled with endless complements,
Hair so blonde it would make the sun jealous.
I weep at your bedside.
Memories streaming down my cheeks,
drowned in the salt water flowing from my eyes.
I take your hand.
So cold, but yet so normal.
The one thing untouched by the cancer.
Your long fingernails, perfectly painted just the way you like it.
I gently kiss your hand.
You dont move, or even open your eyes.
But sure enough you smiled.
Not your big cheesy grin you always do,
but a smile so small, only few would notice.
A smile just for me.
And with that smile,
I whispered "I love you."
And you, the love of my life, so young, and so beautiful,
took your last breath.
With your last breath came a small draft of air.
And in that moment,
I swear I heard your voice carried through the room,
The soft tone of your voice whispered back;
*" I love you too."

the universe was marvelous last night
you took me by the hand
and we walked for a few miles
past the playground and the morgue
our lungs left vapor trails behind us
as the bitter autumn air licked our cheeks
but I didn't feel a **** thing
except for the warmth of your palms
pressed tight against my back
pressed tight against my back.

I wish ladybeetles could talk,


They'd tell the sweetest stories.

I'm trapped in that place
blips and zings shooting out
lights thick enough to take up space
All I can hear is that bass and a sample
shouting, "Drop it to the floor make that
*** shake!"
Suddenly it's a competition
everyone asking, "Yeah, well
how many did you take?"

I feel them cranking up the noise
watch those costumed beauties
listening to the sample auto reverse
grinding up on those boys
"that's an *** quake!"
joy, joy, joy
we all got down to business
as if we were Mercy employees

Back at the hotel rooms the track
drops again, taking hold
of my brain in the back and
rocking my head side to side
I can't stop this feeling like
somehow I got trapped
in trap