I love you
I wish I didn't feel so prohibited
from saying those three words to you
that you were close enough I could whisper them with abandon
instead of typing them out anxiously
and with much trepidition
I love you
I wish you were here so I could tell you
I love you
And I could trace it onto the bare skin of your back
Whisper against your lips
Shout it from rooftops
murmur it against your ears
I love you
But I am not supposed to say those words to you
So I won't
I will write them out instead
in this poem I doubt I can bear to show you
And I will say it a hundred times in my head
Never once speaking it outloud
I love you
And simply hope that someday
I will be allowed to say it
and shout it from rooftops
and trace it into your skin with my finger tips
So often it becomes a permanent part of you and I
the red string of fate
magic
faith
whatever you wish to call it
I want to tell you so often
And so much
You could never begin to forget it
I love you

I imagine you are tired of me writing you poetry
and I understand doing so with such frequency
is bound to diminish its effects,
if it had any to begin with.
But the problem is that I have yet to tire of you
or the rock candy taste of your name on my tongue
rolling and jingling and solid.
And I have yet to tire of the ghosts of your voice,
cotton candy soft and sweet in my ear
as I slip away into sleep each night.
And I have yet to tire of the faint memories of your touch
that leave my skin buzzing like effervescent soda,
cool and refreshing and familiar.
And I have yet to tire of the last lingerings of your scent in my sheets
the sweet cinnamon sweat that clings to me bed
like a bittersweet cloud.
I am sure by now you have tired of my words
but I will give them too you anyway,
because I have yet to tire of you.

I wish I had enough words
The right words
To write a love poem about love
I wish I knew enough beautiful words
Enough dangerous words
Enough stupid words
Enough ecstatic words
To write a love poem about love
But alas I do not have the words
To explain the beauty of giving yourself to someone
Body mind and soul
Or the danger in surrendering so completely to another living being
Just as falliable as you are
Or the stupidity in opening yourself up
To the possibility of the worst pain you were ever feel
Or the complete ecstasy
That comes with the reckless abandon for yourself that love brings along
But I do not have the words to explain all that
Because I am merely human
And while loving is the most human thing of all
To describe it is so far beyond the realm of human comprehension
Because part of the beauty of love
Is that it is never the same for any person
Or between any two people
And no mere mortal could ever hope to understand
Something so varied and divine
So I will not write a love poem about love
Because I do not have the words
And I will not seek to understand it
Because I do not need to
All I need
Is to feel it.

you are a poem
and you are made up of every word you have ever said
or written
or thought
you are a poem i have only been able to read a small part of
the words in your stories
the sweet words you wrote me
everyday conversation
you are a poem
and you are also poetry
your words
your movements
you told me once you were the definition of average grace
but you my darling are poetry
your hand on my chin as you kiss me
the scrunch of your eyes as you laugh
you are poetry and you are poems
let me read you a bit longer
that is all i ask

lying on my back in the warmth of too early southern california morning
in a too empty bed that smells like memories
breathing slowly as I watch the moonbeams shine through the blinds
beams of light jittering slightly on the ceiling
and all that is missing from this moment
is the familiar purr of my cat in the corner
and the feeling of another's heartbeat under my chest
why do I crave domesticity the way I do?
is it because I come from a broken home
and desperately seek that which I never had?
is it because I watched too many movies
and read too many fairy tales?
or was i simply always meant to be this way
craving simple touches and the sound of your breathing
the way some people crave gin and cigarettes

I have given myself to you physically
I have given you my most precious gift
Not my body
But my words
I would give you my heart too
If I thought you wanted it
Or perhaps in has already slipped away
Seeking you out against my will
Utterly disregardent of the fact that you may not want it.

I apologize if my heart has found its way to you
And I do not blame you
If you do not wish to keep it safe
For my heart is lonely, stitched loosely and confused
And I would wish it on no one.

Perhaps I have given you too many words
In hopes they will give my heart something to stumble over
But my words may serve the same purpose
Of scaring you away.

But my words are more resilient than my heart
And they can take rejection
My words are braver than my heart
But they might just be more foolish
Marching blindly and fearlessly into a place they may not be wanted.

I can still smell you
In my sheets
In the sleeve of my shirt on the side that was nestled beneath you
In my pillows
Traces left behind
After the title wave of you.
If I close my eyes
And think hard enough
I can still feel your hand
On the back of my neck
And your lips on mine.
I can try to summon
The feeling of your beating heart beneath my cheekbone
But it has faded too fast
And grown too faint.
I try to remember the heat
Of your skin sliding along mine
And the sting of my skin
In your teeth.
This tidal wave of you
Has come and gone too quickly
Leaving me alone
In the wreckage of its wake.
I am left with just enough vestiges of you
Your scent
The ghostly touch of phantom fingers
To remember you vividly
And miss you eve more so.