the softness of voice is atomic
spoken, static,
lossless

speak to me, and I could not trace you,

follow me into
transience,
dissolution

there is something you should do,
if you could
remember, but

history is bipolar,
each moment splits in two

rifts, opening
skylights in hallways

days go into days, go
into years
and still nothing.
Nothing in the daisy fields,
nothing in the fields,


white hills vanishing
behind clouds

us, here
on the side of the road

and the wind whines
through the tussock grass

and cars drive past,
bright lights speeding through darkness

I've found a way out

imagine walking
through a rain forest
with eyes closed
in a thunderstorm

it comes on slowly
a curtain being pulled open at a theatre
the lights dim
a murmur in the aisles

slowly you feel a fading

then a small, quick intake of break



your love opens
in front of me
all around me
everywhere

I feel like I am always gasping for air
The world is choking me
Putting its hands around my neck
Tightening its grip.
I've always felt like I could not breathe
But when it was you smothering me with your love
I should have let it **** me.

Laughter is the only sound
That is strong enough
To cover to pain
That never gives in
When the music stops
And the blinds pulled down
Pain stretches his legs
All over my heart

Between a baby's first word
And a deathbed confession
There are plenty of times
For God to say,
“I told you so.”

"I love you,"
One:
You are the first person to ever say that to me
The grass felt soft and the air warm
We couldn't stop laughing

"I love you,"
Two:
I'm a bit more skeptical because words aren't actions
And you're actions are yelling another story; it sounds more like a tragedy than a comedy.

Three:
Someone told me they loved me before, but hadn't thought about what it means. I trust you are most selective with my feelings. (A candle-lit dinner means more than artificial light.)

"I _ _ _ _ you,"
Four:
We say "love" as often as "hate;" they can be equally destructive.

Five:
I'm alone. I can love myself.

"I love you,"
Six:
This time I said it first. That was a mistake. You are only skin deep. You couldn't understand anything more than perfume and mascara. It makes all the difference if you break or are broken.

Seven:
We are collapsing buildings, screaming it one last time before we accept we never had a chance. If we had been trees we could have swayed in the breeze.

Eight:
I am alone.

"I love,"
Nine:
My love is for someone else, not for myself.

Ten:
I'm very cautious when someone says, "I love you." I've heard it before. I have only seen it through squinting eyes.
When it's honest, I hope I know how to care for it properly.