When am I writing about you?

Ha! When am I not writing about you?

Always and never not writing about you.

Because - you are all of the dreams

the smokey, hazy, steamed-up-car-windows things

in my head.



The world enters me through my pupils

and you enter me through my mind.

I've seen your (cha)grin in all its beauty

and imagined your fleshy palm with leaf-like lines to read

indecipherable to me, but I’d gaze happily

lying on the shore of time.



I thought about loss today and how people come and go

and the eternity of written words that we repeat endlessly

sentiments that everyone always felt ever before again

and we, still unique despite our sameness, reflect each other.



I thought about selfishness and
how selfish it is 
to want all of your attention.



You whispered about discomfort. I’m glad I can have some effect.