My heart melted at the temperature of her words.
But it would not freeze together at the absence of her voice.
The orchestra of her vocals ceased for an instant,
the musicians halted their strings to leave room in the air so that her thoughts could be heard,
mulled over by the world,
and exalted as the word of god, for truly she is a goddess

i was walking around
in the Tate
on the Thames Embankment
London that day
it was hot hot hot
the heat haze
shimmered
above the river
like the sweat
that rose off my back
i saw you
all mixed up
with Picasso's
misplaced eyes
in Malaga blue
long necks,
curved limbs askew
morning balconies
the sculpture of a goat
made of a basket
***** ram
with a bicycle seat
we weren't allowed to ride
i kept thinking
of painted naked flesh
Velasquez, Degas, Matisse
and flying to Malaga,
Barcelona, Granada,
Paris, Venice, New York
all the cities we could **** in
over and over and over
if we ran off
together right then
any cheap hotel room
with a bed
and a shower
would do
we could give up
on looking at art
completely
screaming
meaningless
poems
words
endless
passiona­te
words
consumed
by life

She left me

It hurt

Ow my heart

I will get better

I will survive

Love is pain

Ow

Our love was like a kite string

I couldn't hold on for too long

the wind was really strong

whoa watch out for that wind

****, it's like a hurricane out in this ****

Wow, I'm very heartfelt

Hopefully someone sleeps with me after I read this at the slam

Relics of you
(Old sweaters and letters)
Line the walls of my hiding place
(I may have dug myself in too deep this time)

A bite.
A painful, swollen,
itching to be noticed
lump, that,
once I delve beneath the surface of temptation,
I see it for what it is;
a burden.