aristotle and plato were convinced that the circle was the heavenliest shape in all of creation. it was eternal. but, see, the ellipse is that much better. the oval is the imperfect circle, the imperfect shape that instead of having one heart has two, the sound of an open mouth as you gasp, the shape of fingerprint bruises.

the earth moves in an ellipse. all of the planets do. as we spin around the sun, you and i are planets. no wonder when i see you from afar, i can't breathe; we're just in space.

you are neptune. you are deep blue and stormy sea clouds that look like sweat and work, but you are mysterious and beautiful and so far away. when you are neptune, i am uranus, being pulled by the way you move.

sometimes i am saturn. i am swollen with the dust and dirt that make up my outsides. when i am saturn, you are jupiter: a friend who is bigger than i am.

we're space stations and metal, too cold to touch until we get hot from the movement of each other. we're satellites and moons and space-time fabric.

aristotle and plato were convinced that the circle was the heavenliest shape in all of creation. i think that they're so wrong. the shape of your hips, your words, your kindness, your taste, your mouth, your body, your creativity, your sweetness all end up tasting like eternity and heaven.

my heart beats in circles sometimes. but, when i look at you, my heart beats like you and i and ovals.

i'm not a freak a' nature, i'm a force a' nature.
i'm gonna ******* up and i'm gonna ******* down
and maybe ******* sideways if i've got time
and i got all the time in the world.
but i maybe ain't got time for you,
you who thinks that 'cause i got my missing tooth,
my balding head, my hairy chest, my bigger left breast,
and my genitals which don't have names that you'd ever give
ain't things to love but are reason to hate.
… yeah, i ain't got time for you. i got bigger things to do
like change the weather, write the future, have ***,
make art, discover a new world, or become a tornado
and spin away
leaving you with nothing to stand on.

you've got a real good seesaw heart, darlin'
the kind that makes my stomach go up and down all day long
like it's fallin' and fallin', or
like it's been shot, or
like you've been shot.
i build things to see you protect them,
just like i build walls 'round my heart to protect
me. but you find a way to crash through 'em
(and i most certainly mean crash, 'cause i don't think
you know where you're going sometimes
but when you smile at me and let me see those hidden eyes
i can feel them walls
come fallin' down
one by one
by one).
you've got the good kinda heart, my friend. it's the kinda heart
that little kids come clamberin' to play on
like you got your arms wide open,
so that even though you may squeak 'cause you need an oilin'
or squawk 'cause somebody's not doing sommat right,
even then
they all know you love 'em
and me.

soon we will hold each other in our hands
and we will fret not of losing touch,
but of not remembering how you feel
in my hands, against my skin
and when that worry comes, we know
that we will never forget

my belly's swollen
from holding the reluctant prophets
inside.

he will force-feed
his horses on sugar and *******.
he will sing at the door
and beg to be let in

he shall sit on the throne and take command
just as his kingdom slides inside a styrofoam cup
and burns

because he is the minstrel-born-king
and the world stops and stares
when he starts to sing
on false lungs
and artificial hearts
and strings.

when you and i dance it is electric shock
and you are water and i am ice.
you conduct and share, spread like
wildfire heat and burn and
so don’t think i am nervous when you touch me
it is me
not you, never you
it is me who is too old and too frozen
to allow the free current to rumble through my skin.
it is a surprise,
a present,
when you let the warmth flash into my bones
but please remember that it is hard for me to hold
this gift
without dropping it.
humans have their half-hearts and
yours are so full
it’s been so long to remember heat
that sometimes i let the ice taste like
metal, like wood
like stolen promises and betrayed kisses
and then when you touch me
it is a surprise present
but one that i will take all too gladly
because i am selfish
and you have so much to give.
you are your mother and your father
and you are your own traveler
so let me come into your home
and make a mess of things
with my poor conductor heart.
i may never tell you i love you
but just know that it is not words that fail me
you would know i was lying if i said
i was anything other than a storyteller,
a wordsmith, a forger of weapons from syllables
and tongue against teeth and vocal chords,
but it is the surprise of electricity
that keeps my mouth fumbling.
let me marry you in forever ago
and now
because you are a surprise, a present,
and i have come to need you
in a way that i haven’t needed
and i cannot keep you in the box
of people i love
because they always come out broken
and i demand your circuitry, your
flow over me.
you must never break
again
because you torture yourself with
your own shock, your own pulse
and i cannot choose your fate;
that is yours to do with what you will,
but i can choose how to feel.
so maybe when the day comes
and the towers sing and i cry
i will cry not from the sadness of your leaving
but cry at the happiness of your staying
and the knowing that you and i
are the choosing ones
that have chosen electric-shock-pain
in the logic of you and i in union.