Your image in my eye

dries and dies;

what could live in this desert place of mine?

One day you’ll have the death of me

splattered all over your stark-white shirt

the most soft and tender breath

could be lost on your face.



-She’s sitting between crumbled sheets,

bones squeaking like a cat;

the illusion of happiness-



I could never stitch you back

head and heart and limbs together

properly joined-

it would take more than my life

to make you whole again.

I loved the scars on his hands
From when he baptized himself in a pile of dirt on a playground.
Reaching before knowing, like he always did.
Once grabbing hold of me
And I loved him.
His eyes may not have been beautiful, but his soul was.
Like that same boy who dove headfirst into the dirt his spirit shone through his crooked smile
And lanky gait.
It was love because I could see his heart,
It hurt because he stole mine.
Out of my hands rough and calloused from testing before reaching
And my chest fresh from being freezer-packed for years.
It was love because it tested boundaries that didn't exist until we found them
I know it was love.
I hope it was love.

Heaven,
she once told me,
as I looked at her through 8 year old eyes
is the place
where you and I,
will one day,
re unite.

This is a story set in stone taken apart like pebbles and thrown into the sea
About a young girl who didn't know that she'd grow up one day to be me.
And every one she's ever known who doesn't understand
How much hate and love has been cause by her two average sized hands.
It's like her heart was always aching, like her chest was calling out.
And her fingers always itched to write to find what it was about.
A boy would come, a boy would go, a man may come and stay.
But life, it seemed, was against her, and would put obstacles in her way.
Space and time, her heart's bane, reminded her each hour
that minutes, seconds, days, and months will **** each precious flower.
With no water, sun, soil or love her heart would beat out dry
Would stop it's needy stretch, would stop trying to touch the sky.
This is a tale about a girl who didn't know that she would take
The weight of all her heart's wishes and its aches.
Upon her sturdy shoulders and she trudged through space and time
So that farther in her journey she could jump instead of climb.

Sprawled out across his back.
Contouring the bean bag chair into something shapely beautiful.
Knees expelled in opposite directions,
Expelling my imagination into a furious sea of frenzy.
Silence.
Except for the constant clicking of the video-game controller.
The constant flicking of his fingers soon lead my imagination
Elsewhere.
The traffic-jam of words inside of me soon slip uncontrollably to thoughts
As I sit behind him.
My heat undecoded.
Legs crossed, just as a lady should.
Girls from all over must tell him he's beautiful.
But beauty in itself is a limitation.
I'm not sure if he is aware that he is beyond
The liberal definition.
I find myself soon forgetting the awkward of the situation,
Instead savoring the surreal reality of such a moment.
"Are you winning?" I shortly ask him, breaking the heavy incredible silence.
But I had to know.
He can miss as many goals as he likes. Laugh it off.
Because inside of me he's scoring.

Waking up there
next to you
is like being born
to a Symphony
of warm water-bells~

Your smiling eyes are light houses
where the ghost-light keepers
ring out their fears with silver bells

a lovely Symphony of bells
calling my ghost ship
of white noise and lonely violins

to the easy morning light
you wear like a crown
of laughing daffodils.