Las Posadas, oh, a lot of, tequila mañana.
I listen to Mexican Radio in my room.
Sit in my bed and
wait for tomorrow.

They say there are more stars than grains of sand
and I hope that does not likewise apply to time
I sit, drop sand, count grains as seconds, and wait.

When temptation follows us all,
From the farthest pew,
He calls the poem,
"Untitled."

if the world before us were a binary search tree—
you and i can't carry on.
parent to nothing;
we were born leaves,
we stay leaves.
}

I met a girl at a house party, once,
whose boyfriend I had slept with
the previous semester before that.
We looked at each other—never
met—and the gaze held for just
a single second too long than it
should have. I knew, and she knew.
Sometimes you have a secret and
you can see it reflected in the eyes of
someone who knows. Who also knows.

I have been sharing a secret with just myself but
I saw that look in his eyes last night.

Even though I had lied many times
and there was nothing which you could offer my youth
to make it take you back—
we still both agreed:
for the first of March,
it was a cold day
with colder air—
the freshest kind of close.

Wish I never purged anything we shared
So I could count the days since we'd last spoken

I know you can't put a measure on sadness
But I can keep a tally of the seconds.