so the lights behind the church—
do you think they are ghosts?
because i think it says a lot about
you if you do.
in a creepy kinda way.
i like it. i like that you don’t hate me
at least most of the time you don’t
but your brain tastes like butterscotch so…
i want to swallow it whole.
maybe i focus too ******* your hands
and not enough on your earlobes.
but there is something
we haven’t found yet because we’re lost in
a transient light.
like the ones
behind the church
that are actually ghosts
because
i really do want them to be ghosts.
i want us to be ghosts and i want
to talk to your aunt about Albuquerque
and touch your leg with mine.
i will always
watch you bend the moon over your knee
how you do every night.
i want to wrap the sky and stars in gold
and send them your way
when you’re feeling the weight
of the nighttime swoons
and craving the jazz music in my veins
that only play
when they’re close to your veins.
for every night i’m not there
i’ll sign my name on the sun
and send it to rise just for you and
simply hope it doesn’t burn you
midday when you call me
smiling through the phone and holding
yourself together with twine and string.
soon i’ll be home
and i can hold you together with my hands
my mouth
your mouth
let’s melt together.
or be ghosts.
i want us to be ghosts.