I take the pose of the Madonna,
Anguished limbs hanging heavy
Light and dark

The people behind me hold one another tight
but do not kiss.
Your bed is a vacuous portal:
The coordinate points of collapse
Syrup runs down my fingertips and I cannot –

Faulty connection, a subtle messenger of
Uncertain fate
I am the thread, I am the fury
I cut my bangs with safety scissors over
The bathroom sink.
Silence grows, the day falls, spent alongside idle worry and
acute pains
Fading to a dull ache,
a gravitational pull,
Eggs getting cold in the pan
Muscles that atrophy safe from the light of
Afternoon sun.

Right hand blue,
Simon says.
But it’s just you and me on the edge of
observable reality,
you and I and cable television and white walls and
I don’t
I don’t know where to put my hands.

I feel comfortable when we kiss,
Eyes closed
And I open mine first.
Eyelashes, yours,
And again, you are delicate
How someone might love you,
Gossamer and tangible,
But eyes open again you are a stranger,
Distant as the waves in your irises push me,
As the space between your eyelids
Drown me in the static of synthetic rain to fall
Asleep to at night, or whenever you can,
Amplified.
You touch my skin as if it is plastic.

Eyes closed once more we walk,
My hand in silent combat with yours,
Through the trash covered streets to the train.

We kiss on the sidewalk and the ground shakes.

The sky splits tearing paper limbs from their comfortable contortion
making known the predisposed discontent and conjuring discord to serve a new generation.
Flooded veins pouring out of open wounds,
never to dry up until soaked entirely through
the constant patter of stagnant repression crafting static regression,
drown in cheap memory
repulsive harmony
forced contention
may it all return seeking revenge on a lifeless fragment
a fraction of the initial structure.

Tell me all your hopes and tell me all your dreams…

never mind, forget it.
replace it with bruises for my knees.

I'm living in sin with your unfamiliar skin:
I wanna be with you no matter what it takes,
so meet me in the bathroom before the sun starts to rise.

Take these entangled bodies,
and mangled hearts,
and just run until it all collapses.

Trembling legs,
scratched up backs:
the marks of the misunderstood at midnight.

Watching the snow fall,
from the same place as last year.
With  your head rested in my lap,
your hand making small circles on the part of my back where my sweater doesn't cover,
I remember when I would have given the world for this.

Last year.
When i watched you and some other girl,
hoping that someday I could be her:
exchanging meaningful smiles,
laughing as if time had stopped.

Here we are now,
but time hasn't stopped for us,
and all I can think of is what I used to want.

An entire sequence of fantasy,
played out in the course of four hours.
Like all good dreams,
an abrupt awakening,
rude and cold,
gasping for breath,
attempts to make sense of what is essentially nothing
but means so much more

Video montages,
played over and over in the mind.
Tired, and overplayed,
still powerful and overwhelming  
something out of a fairytale:
the way the light plays off his face,
the evening sun shining on the branches,
grass swaying to make way of a ball,
nervous giggles accompanying nervous cries of birds,
anticipating the moment we may beautifully collide-
reality surrounded by a haven of immortality and happiness of the purest type

Unforgettable.

Problematically so.