I pretend it's still last summer, when you painted my room electric blue, and
talked to me the way one talks to a friend
because I still have things to talk about with you.
I pretend it was completely an accident, that time my leg brushed against yours
during another of our card-game-nights lasting 'til twelve
because I should have no reason for wanting to brush even closer to you.
I pretend I never noticed the shape your fingers made
as you flicked your hair away from your grey eyes
because if I knew too much about your hands, I might want to hold them.
I pretend I'm not in love with you
because your girlfriend's too perfect for anyone to ignore
because so many people know you, and her, and they'd call me crazy
because what do I know about love at my age, anyways?

Let me help you, for I am strong.
Let me help you, that I may offer support.
Please, madam,
Take my hand.
And …
Never mind the blood dripping from its severed nub.

Are you struck with her figure and face?
    How lucky you happened to meet
With none of the gossiping race,
    Who dwell in this horrible street!
They of slanderous hints never tire;
    I love to approve and commend,
And the lady you so much admire,
    Is my very particular friend!

How charming she looks — her dark curls
    Really float with a natural air;
And the beads might be taken for pearls,
    That arc twined in that beautiful hair:
Then what tints her fair features o'erspread -
    That she uses white paint some pretend;
But, believe me, she only wears red
    She's my very particular friend!

Then her voice, how divine it appears
    While carolling: "Rise gentle moon;"
Lord Crotchet lastnight stopped his ears,
    And declared that she sung out of tune;
For my part, I think that her lay
    Might to Malibran's sweetness pretend;
But people won't mind what I say —
    I'm her very particular friend!

Then her writings — her exquisite rhyme
    To posterity surely must reach;
(I wonder she finds so much time
    With four little sisters to teach!)
A critic in Blackwood, indeed.
    Abused the last poem she penned;
The article made my heart bleed —
    She's my very particular friend!

Her brother dispatched with a sword,
    His friend in a duel, last June;
And her cousin eloped from her lord,
    With a handsome and whiskered dragoon:
Her father with duns is beset,
    Yet continues to dash and to spend —
She's too good for so worthless a set —
    She's my very particular friend!

All her chance of a portion is lost,
    And I fear she'll be single for life;
Wise people will count up the cost
    Of a gay and extravagant wife:
But tis odious to marry for pelf,
    (Though the times are not likely to mend,)
She's a fortune besides in herself —
    She's my very particular friend!

That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert,
    It were useless and vain to deny;
She's a little too much of a flirt,
    And a slattern when no one is by:
From her servants she constantly parts,
    Before they have reached the year's end;
But her heart is the kindest of hearts —
    She's my very particular friend!

Oh! never have pencil or pen,
    A creature more exquisite traced;
That her style does not take with the men,
    Proves a sad want of judgment and taste;
And if to the sketch I give now,
    Some flattering touches I lend;
Do for partial affection allow —
    She's my very particular friend!

i can feel myself inside of you.

i.

my pulse is beating the blood
from your heart that never
took the chance to spill once you
ripped apart-
all our letters,
the pictures,
the words
they're running a marathon
against a wild train wreck which
reeks of the times we spent
wrapped up in...'this'
nothing means nothing
it means
i  can't  deny  our  fate
our hands entangled in each other's hair
the pavement hot,
having everything to bear
having our g o o d b y e s
hanging in mid-air

ii.

there were choices made and i
enveloped inside of myself
giving everything away,
so you wouldn't be able to say
that i left being complete
my insides are churning new
love letters for you
but you threw-
you threw up the ties that
held us in each other's own light;
you gave up the fight,
you gave up the fight

it's a wonder we are still surviving,
writing and re-living:
past memories and guilt,
pent-up lust and miserable deceit

sometimes i think,
you were the lucky one

you told me you had lost your muse,
the first night we had met,
i glanced over and blushed into
the overhead lights,
i wasn't about to volunteer
my own self
but i secretly knew

i could be her

All choked up inside because
                             there is so much I never say, wanting
                                                    to share everything and grow up
           way too fast, that's not how
                           things work around here, not
               now under microscopes

                                  I love you to the point of
  not breathing, a precaution to
     ensure such radical notions remain where they
       are, but today you

                                           told me the greatest thing you could
                                               ever have brought to my ears, that you
                                                             ­          recognize
                                                        the simple truth, the difference, this
                                                wonderful knowledge you and I have of each
                                                 other, something others chase for so much
                                                            time­, and yes we have some of
that loosely-defined handhold on
reality, the ticking, but
                                           I need you to know, I
                                                               ­         
still cannot find words.