I want to love. But who doesn't? I want the specialty, the confidential of love. I want to be with you at 4:30 pm on a Thursday, staring at your ceiling listening to the heater. I want to be unexcited, because I think love can sometimes be that challenging. I want to stare into your soul again, as I have many times before. And you utter my name softly, then drift into sleep with that satisfaction.
I want unsullied thoughts. While no, not a clean slate, but purity.
Snow.
A hug to radiate shivers down my spine and force cheeks to blush and teeth to flutter.
Mislead to Antarctica by our clutter.
I want your sanctuary, the cove of your heart, tie a tent, and weave our decisions into hammocks which cradle  promise and hope.
And I have sipped, in consistency, to discover you exist at the bottom of bottles. And you have tarnished the coffee table.
I want long drives on Sunday. To escape the complexities which plow our emotions. I want to drag you to the mall, and you roll your eyes and check the time on your cellphone every seven minutes. I want to crawl into bed at two in the morning when I get home from work, to hear your snores and fit into the mold that your body made so innate. I want *** in an alleyway with you because the mattress is worn and wine is the taste of passion. More so with you, because I cannot imagine anyone else. I want to listen to music while in love again, because it sounds completely different. I want that booming laughter back which trails you are an idiot. But so am I. I want you back because I am an idiot. I am too human.
Once wrapped in arms, now tangled in this heart.

The feeling reminded me of death.
Not necessarily in amount of tragedy,
But that feeling when you are trying to cry,
you know you should.
Maybe it is the shock of it all,
or the lack in
closure.
Crying is respectful.
That,
and I also knew
you
would no longer be
here.
Maybe I will find
something better
tomorrow mourning.

Cradle me in indecision.
But never rinse me clean.
Is it so absurd that one can love you?
Even grime has it's glory:
hunger.
A man beautiful,
thirsty for quest.
I shed no more sugar stains.
No more crocodiles.
The rotation of a day,
and more
days.
Moonrise eventually.
But I am sad to say
The pursuit in dusk
will forever hold you this way.
May you never wake up alone,
May you never wake up empty.
Although I already
Know you do.

I too am wandering this darkscape.
Many men have offered me love,
Or a decent roll-around.
But trust absent
And emotion lacking.
I always felt hallow beneath my feet.
I could feel the trap door.
And I am not sure
If you are the exception
or
The acceptance
for the way of maddened lovers.

A midnight love will never see the sun.
But please,
Never talk me out of this.

Youre lingering in me
And I feel so much
so much.
Mostly hatred.
Mostly lamentation.

I hear your cries,
echoing in the chambers of my heart.
And I am sorry
Sorry for being this maker
For being this destructive person.
I am sorry for being mean
And bitter.
I am amberized for another
And I wait
And again,
I am sorry.

WHAT WORDS CAN EVEN GIVE ME MERCY?
WHAT PERSON WHO WILL EVER GROW WITH ME?
WHO WOULD ******* WANT TO?
(besides you?)

Misinterpretation,
Mislead,
Missing all of you.

The knife blue your eyes,
sawing hacking engraving
your initials in my chest like bark.
Embark.

Rough hands.

I remember the canyons of your lips,
I plummet down with every word you mouth,
~falling falling arms open face first~
The kisses and kisses and kisses and more kisses.
Smother me.

Booming laughter.

The marks and scars of your face,
from other boys and girls and parents and growing older.
I remember their order and presence.
The beauty marks and freckles
Which shape constellations my zodiac has applause.
Resume.

Lazy eye.

All of this hope,
And every passing water gets my change
And every first day gets two rabbits
And every other boy gets my denial
And every suspicion is overlooked.
And I have learned sometimes that is what love becomes.
Me in a waiting room.
Staring at the suckerfish hide in plastic castles.
Reading Women's Health.
I have learned to trust time.
And to never, ever accept what I cannot change.
DEVOUR WHOLLY
And I will disturb these waters until
I am banished or beloved.


Tunnel vision on a Wednesday night.

I have a pocket of sighs,
Near my heart which too
Carries these sins.
All plastered in the **** of my lie.

And this is the **** closest I have come to feeling.
The peeling,
The empty organs.

I'll steal the humdrum stampede away
Lush.
A boy's blush,
and a touch.
For a tick,
This pulse will tock.

I am a frugal woman.
Sometimes money,
A vote maybe,
but mostly in trust.
Heartfelt anything will consume my mornings
And by night whiskey departs my remorse.

And it smells like your Oldspice.
And  tumbler glasses feels like the stiff hills of your back
And I remember everything.
Like I said,
This is the closest I have been to feeling feelings.

My mother always told me to not play in the street.
But when I was three, I was invincible.
I could fly.
So I shut my lids and soared-
Until an old man and his Chevy's bumper stopped me.
And ever since then I look both ways.

My grandmother always told me to not touch the stove,
but I still attempted to grasp the macaroni pan
But all I got was a patch on my hand of searing scarlet.
And after that I never learned to cook.

I wonder why no one had cautioned me of love.
Because I have this scar under my arm from pavement
And I have this gray patch on my palm
But I have nothing to show from love.
Where is the lesson?

Maybe I am still a foolish little girl.