I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

I stood in the middle of your chaos,
guitar melodies and melted candle wax,
cigarette butts from another drunken night
and that **** futon that always made
me awaken, toss and turn
but I never reached for you
and you never reached for me
I knew right away,
this should tell me something
about the way we both love
Not enough,
or too much
and neither is ever
right

This is about the breath on your tongue
and the way you looked in my basement
when the world was asleep and my
fingers were wet;
because I can still smell you after
4 a.m. on a Friday night, thinking —
(****, this feeling burns like
a cigarette habit).
Your ******* are the epitome of thunder,
they creep into my skin and leave
me vibrating.

You are restless in between my legs
so I pretend this was easy like
the first time I told you I love you;
rub my hand through your hair as the breath
in my lungs quakes and evaporates
in between us.

It is cold and I am swooning in our
sweat and tears from earlier testimonies,
(I know you care, I saw it in
the way you arched your vertebrae)
and you whimper in your sleep —
waking your bones, your still-life perfection.
I could stay in this mess forever.