Until you're ready I'll say it
Behind my eyes whenever they catch yours.
Under my breath after you've gone.
Beneath my skin when it itches for you.
Laced in my lips when I say goodnight.
Slipped from my tongue when it cant be contained.
I love you.

Van Gogh
Cut his ear off and mailed it to a ******* in a box
For you I'd rip my heart out, ship it on a silver plate
And you'd
Reject it, like they've frequently done, every one,
Van Gogh's *****, you, her, all of them, cold souls.
Perhaps
Not, quite possibly I'm wrong, the reason
For rejections isn't cold, concrete souls,
And it's
Our fault, the writer, the painter,
We, the foolish artists, that
Decide
To package organs in
The mail for our loves,
That is,
Now that I think
It through,
Very
Strange.

Also poetic.
Artsy even.
So please,
Send a thank you note in return
At the very least.
And no, not a restraining order.
(And to end with a generic line
About poetry and the bard:
All these poems are my heart.
All of them.
So, here, take this,
I'm bleeding out for you.)
(Wait, what do you mean you only take cash?)

"Tell me a secret."

I cannot *** with my eyes open. (Especially when it’s with someone)

"No way."

I still believe that one day you’ll tell me you love me.

"Why not?"

When I’m driving, I imagine swerving into the other lane. I imagine what color your eyes would be when you find out.

"I can’t."

I cannot let you inside my anatomy anymore, for twice is far too much. Your touch creates asteroids, and I am struggling to place layering upon the craters.

"Tell me a secret."

*Your eyes are still supernovas.

i am most alive during the summer.
i crawl through arteries filled with stars waiting to
explode.
my upper lip tastes like sweet salt and the sun
will never stop kissing me.
i am most ravenous during the summer.
i wear shorter shorts, touching myself, touching
him until i cannot find the difference between our
galaxies.
i am most insane during the summer.
i run with nothing but my scarcity, my self-consciousness,
i flip through lakes algae blooming and throbbing.
i am most me during the summer.
i find beauty within the melodies of my
peers. i dance through blades with bare toes and
tangled hair.
summer is never forever,
but tonight it will be.

last night i went through old polaroids
of when you were still around-
the edges had faded and i couldn't
remember if they had once been coloured
or if the pictures had always been
black and white.  i tried to think back
to the exact moments they were taken, but
i couldn't get dates to stick in my head,
just the sound of your laugh right after
the camera had clicked- (it changed almost monthly,
and it was the only way i judged the
passing of time back then)

when i put them away to get some sleep,
i dreamt of your new laugh, and when i woke up
i realized i wasn't able to hear it.

i take showers at 2:30 in the morning,
because i believe it helps me think and
be O.K. with the fact that you can sleep without me,
and i seep into my mattress petting my cat
and watching sunlight tickle through shades.
i believe it helps me be O.K. with how
you have become my everything.
you are the cream stirred in my coffee every morning,
you are my mornings, my nights,
the dreams i have between 1 am and 7 am,
the bruises i receive from tripping over self conscious
decisions.
i believe it helps me be O.K. with
how i must keep myself occupied when you’re not around,
and i can easily run laps
around and over and around and over,
because otherwise i will feel the emptiness.
i believe it helps me be O.K.
with knowing you will eventually
leave.
and i won’t know what to do
but
sit
and take showers at 2:30
in the morning.