He holds the corners of my smile with his thumbs
like the way he balances his self-worth on top of how much I believe
he can hold on the surface of his heart without caving.
And I know that maybe the inside of his dreams
have been filled with wallpaper reminders of a dad gone missing
or fixing cars on Saturday’s, but his hands
are callused just enough to know they’re real, and they cover
me with their warmth at night as he loves on my body,
folding in my ribs until I’m weak.

Sometimes I watch him while he sleeps, tucking
my whispers behind his ear and taking off the blanket
from his legs cause I know he’s too hot, but he always
makes sure the goosebumps on my body come from his touch
and not the way the winter breathes.

I like to think we met let letters do,
in a 2 a.m. sentence or a delusional poem
that seeps from the cracks in worried souls and fingers.  
Our outlines, the ***** of his side and the bumps of my hips
fit together like cursive and I could write him for a lifetime.

Anytime my coffee gets cold
I can't help but think of you
It scalds my mouth as I drink it too fast
But the pain doesn't compare
To that I feel missing you

You're too pretty to look so sad.

You're too young to feel so empty.

You laugh too heartily to be so numb.

I've loved you too much for your chest to hollow.

You'd loved me too much to to ever want to leave.

You'd disguised yourself too well for me to know better.

I wish I'd known.
I wish I'd known.

Wisconsin, fine--
We sit on state lines.
Across the street, Rodeo Drive.
Move a little bit
and East L.A. makes you feel alive.

Go to the diner
where the mermaids wear aprons
and hold out menus like personal stock.
Where the surfer-rama drama in the diner deep
allows them to let go of those they keep.

And you and me and those we love,
keep us finite, because why not.
I could tell you how to eat your waffles
if you will be the spoon that stirs my coffee.

Listen to me,
"Rachel, there's no one, right now,
that I'd rather sit and eat breakfast with than you.
And if it doesn't work out,
and we choke on our meals, that's fine.
I just want to try when I'm with you."

We exchange glances
and I'm sure, then,
that I adore the aplomb,
for your smile leads myself
into believing and being more.

If you asked me what I missed,
could I say anything at all?

Homework
and lost words.
Homeward.
and Route 12,
northbound.
Your smile poking its way through.
The tight black skirt,
more cleavage than tee shirt.
A walk or two,
and a view, straight through.
A meticulous routine to undress;
the wood-pellet stove keeping it hot.
The butterfly that was never caught.
Every box of Mike & Ikes bought.
An arbitrary laugh, a foreshadowing sunset-
a neck full of bruises and sweat.
The mocha-chip Thursday Nights at eight.
All the way back to a single Ferris wheel-
an ironically fatal first date.

If you asked me what I miss,
would I say anything at all?