I just want to roll over and see you sleeping in a tight ball, relegated, sheetless and shivering, to the precipice of our too-small bed by my spread eagle slumber. I want to melt into the angles of your back and knees. Breathe in the cold skin between your shoulder blades. I want to wake you with selfish kisses. Feel you stir beneath my lips. You will rouse for just a moment. Only to pull me closer. But that will be enough and I will fall asleep again in the curve of your neck. I want to sleep like this. Entwined at the edge of our bed, about to fall, but holding on.

Left. Creek. Splash.
Above. Creek. Like  a waterfall.
Shuffling on the rocks

Music stuck in my head
the crackling of fire pops in the mix of
maroon five and
early a.m. skies
stars
flicker in and out
the breath of a man
just through making love
to a mountain

I should do this more often.

How old were you
when it turned out
that we only grow to die
and how long did it take
for that to terrify you,
and how long did it take
for growing at all to
make you sick,
how long did you live
before you were ready to die?
Some people never live at all
before they’re swept away and
some people try so hard to escape
and keep on failing.
Living is so awful, so
mind-numbingly painful and yet
- and yet and yet and yet -
somehow its so beautiful too.
Somehow we live only to die
and somehow we survive that short,
confused, horrified, hiccuping existence,
and make it worth it. How does
love work that it takes something
so tortured and impossible
and turns it into something
almost beautiful?
how does that work at all

there’s that feeling
that comes with the sun
as she shines
across a blue sky
that slowly fades
to white

there’s that feeling
that comes with a new year
as the days
begin to get brighter
and we can imagine
all we can do