The art of fading isn't hard to master.
As I walked out to my 2005 Honda Accord
The seductive smell of smoke and stale coffee
Laid heavy upon my skin.
It was 30 degrees out
Or less
But after the bitter winter
It felt like spring.
Your voice rang in my head, sirens
Even though it was hushed
The tongue that used to roar like rivers
Was now silent like the pond.
"Hey, Dad, want to talk to Sarah?"
I heard my father's voice coax you like a child
Life is so funny that way
That at the beginning, you take care of your children
And at the end, they take care of you.
I hear your voice on the end of the line
It sounds like you are talking through a straw
Tears filled my eyes
Now my cheeks were the river your mouth used to be.
I squeaked out
"I love you, Pop Pop."
Among other things.
Maybe God was holding my hand that day
Because above the heavy breathing and scratches on the end of the line
The only words I heard clearly were
"I love you."
The art of fading isn't hard to master.
But the art of watching someone fade
Is more of a challenge.

She applied the latest fashion tips to her lips
and put on the newest dress to cover the mess.
I held her as she swayed in front of the mirror.
"I want to get away from here," she cooes in my ear.

It rains ridicule as she tries to be classic cool;
storms that brew from within-
and there's no way of knowing how it'll begin.
She'll say that she's a succubus
but I promise that she's a star and thus
destined to implode but shine beautiful before death.
And I await to be burnt by her deathly breath.

She says that she feels detached,
I read the message that has hatched
from ten eggs thrown from a wrist.
Her lips are mine but all I do is miss.
Her lips aren't mine and all I do is this.

I **** time with new noise and old sights.
She asks if I'll be home tonight
and I wish I could because I'd clearly sway thee,
macabre debutante lover baby.

Her name is Tricia and as I whisper,
her cheeks blush.
"Don't break hearts or mine too much."
I could say the say the same for you, my Josh.
Couldn't we all break broken signs
with the love we reallign?

I tantalize her lullabies with eager hands
and lethargic eyes.
I shoulder her and press her near,
and kiss her from neck to each ear.
She slides hands and traces each crease.
She runs her hands as soft as fleece.
My hands hide in her underwear
and she says,
"How did you remove all of my air?"
She fixes her hands and grabs my base,
I kiss each corner of her face.
Stroking, stoking my desire,
I ask her to lay naked by the fire.

I disrobe and throw each cloth on ground.
Tricia takes off her bra and there is no sound.
Her ******* make me eagersome
and, suddenly, I'm no longer numb .
I tell her that if it doesn't feel right
that we don't have to make love tonight.
She walks and her feet kiss the tile.
She says she wants to stay for a while.

We get lost in blanket and the cloth is soft,
as we move from the fire to a loft.
I tell her that her lips are silk,
her chest plays songs,
and her taste is milk.

Her feet appear behind my head,
and she bites her lip until I feel dead.
I place my hand between her thighs
and listen to each moan and sigh.

I hear her shudder as I break her soil
and I feel my body start to boil,
as I push in and kiss her nose.
She throws back her head
as her mouth can't close.

I wake up and she's next to me.
I kiss her forehead to thank for harmony.
I pick her up and let her bloom in my arms like a flower.
And then I walk her to the shower.

I like salty elbow visions and dream
of schemes and winds that change
always travel within the memories of
you and I and close my eyes
replay
the splendor and tragedy
close eyes of reality and
live in then.

A locked lake lies lonely,
deep beneath ice and snow.
Pieces of past still present
in delicate misty glow.
We wish to wake it.
We wish to know it.
I wish they'd leave it alone.

I think my mind calls it home.

sext: "want me to come over? I have blunts!"
why not, why not have over a guy who I met 4 days ago?
beautiful eyes, expensive car, ****

just the thought of my heart fluttering a thousand miles a minute,
the effects of the drug indistinguishable from my reaction to physical contact,
was enough for me to open my door (and my legs) to this boy

he was an okay kisser.
he (attempted) to pleasure me before himself.
he was confused as to why I didn't **** him.
he left right after he finished.
he hasn't texted me since.

we didn't even get high.

calculate the derivative
of meaningless numbers and variables strewn together
somehow making up easier or harder variations of the same thing.
why do I give a **** about the derivative of the square root of sinx+1?
nonetheless it's easy, it's the chain rule twice.
at least calculus has laws and patterns to follow;
you weren't that simple.
I stayed up countless nights trying to extract some formula to count the stars I saw in your eyes,
at least until I learned that the stars in our sky died billions of light years ago.
your kisses began tasting like stardust you coughed up from the dying universe in your lungs but now you're coughing up cigarette smoke and binge drinking until you're on the wait-list for a new liver.
I guess it's kind of ironic that I only call you when I'm wasted off of cheap ***** or high as ******* some random's **** probably laced with god knows what.
fun new drinking game: take a shot every time you call me a hypocrite;
I guess I just care a little more about you than I do about myself.

A lot can happen in for years.
I said, but you begged
You don’t think you’ll come back?
Not even for me?
Not even for you. Not even for you,
but you see this is just a ghost town
haunted by the very memory
of your wild existence,
calling a teenager after curfew to your street name,
a few skipped breaths in bed,
kid skin and little bellies
trapped by wide-spread fingers and an innocent
lust. *A lot can happen in four years.

Twenty two sounds a lot older when you’re eighteen
and beautiful, but really
we’re all just chasing cars, multiplying the distance,
confusing the circumstances and rebelling
against the plan. This place isn't how you left it.
I’m not the glass-eyed girl in your driveway
telling you I’d never change if you would just stay
within my reach. I know I missed a few calls.
I know you did, too.
But honestly, what more could we expect
from a dreamer and trailer boy with alcohol breath?
We’ve had our roles from the beginning.
We were unlucky crossing paths, supernovas
whose rubble fell together on the ground in a coded map
that only our hands could read.

You don’t think you’ll come back?
You said, but now
1,910 miles between,
I know that it’s you that won’t come back for me.