you keep saying
that i'm like the moonlight
and expecting me
to rhyme
with the stars
when you kiss me
in the rain
in the dark
in front of a moving train

you are my
happy
coincidence

let's count
the number of words
we've meant
on both our hands

and use our pinkies
to make the promises
we will
eventually
break

i do not read
to lock myself
away
or to hide
nestled between
printed pages

a book is not an escape

because i don't read
to forget
why my heart is shattered
or to chase away
the eyes
that haunt me
at night

a book is not an escape

i do not read to be transported
from this world
to another
leaving it all
behind

a book is not an escape

i do not read
with the intention to laugh
or to cry
or to fall in love
with the ideals of a lie

a book is not an escape

i do not read
for the wings words give me
or the ability to breathe
under waves

a book is not an escape

i do not read
to be able to feel
or to get wiser
(a contradiction)
or to be free
or captured
in the bars
created
by adjectives

a book is not an escape

i only read to be me

what is
the opposite
of loneliness?

i am alone
on the top
of a hill
in the spring

i have fallen back
from my friends
my toes
curling
in sands of time
moving
with the tide

i am in a room
full of intelligent
funny people
whose pitch
matches my own

i'm lying
on the dew laden grass
of my garden
and staring at the sky
with his fingers
ensnaring
my own
anchoring
me
to the spinning
earth

what is the opposite
of loneliness?

maybe no one has felt it
and that is why
no one can tell