like two hands on a clock
our bodies move in fractions
with movements so slight
they go unnoticed
and the distance grows and fills
with shapes and sounds
to drown out flashbacks
of eyes, of hands, of mouths

(this interspace between us always
lasts much longer than the moments
when our hands align)

like two hands on a clock
our meeting is
inevitable
and two days later –
when i wash your smoke from my hair
your breath from my skin –
the water cannot sever your being
from my being

and unlike two hands on a clock –
that map the time in patterns unchanging –
i cannot map our movements
towards or away from each other:
there is no clear explanation
for you and i

I love the color of your eyes,
And running my hands through your hair,
and when you wear nothing but boxers,
I cant help but stare.

I love your stomach and your arms,
and the familiar smell of your skin,
I love your neck and the fact that you,
Can barely grow hair on your chin.

I love the way you laugh and smile,
and the rise and fall of your chest at night,
And when were lying close together,
I love how our bodies fit just right.

I love it when you hold my hand,
And sit beside me on your bed,
and I love watching movies with your
Shoulder resting behind my head.

I love riding in your car,
Singing along to the radio,
and I know that you love me,
Because your eyes tell me so.

the thing about me
is that I crave intimacy.
but I've grown up in this way
of believing that two people can never really connect
when there's fabric between their bodies
so I part my lips,
and I kiss your skin,
desperate to feel like I am part of something.
I listen to our breaths
and feel our bodies synchronize,
reaching out with my mind,
hoping somehow it'll mingle with yours.
But two souls can't connect
when it's just another, "****."
and when I open my eyes,
I allow guilt to settle in
vulnerable and naked,
with remnants of burning fingers on my skin.

Once
in the old neighbourhood

I had never felt more beautiful
and unafraid.

But I am afraid now
as you stalk near.

My words are naked babies
and I must run.

Swifter beasts than me
have not survived

the chase
across the savannah.

You too struck
quick as lightning.

Do they willingly give up
their bodies and blood?

Are they all too happy
to submit to death?

But I,
I just wanted to get out alive.

The unnecessary repetitions
of your bodies breathing
it climbs the stairway
of the spine
tripping over and over
on the same creaking step
of disbelief,
****** knees
find themselves in missing sheets
that hung from the seems
on backyard linings
until the ghosts of the ground
took them for their sacred dinings
reminders written into sticky notes
posted on the walls of the skull

I look at you
and note
the way your shoulders extinguish the sleepy light
your freckle sitting just so
below unaware taunt lips
your eyes
like any other
not worthy of weak knees and blooming cheeks
your jaw
jutting arrogantly,  
as though (impossibly) aware
of the slow furling burn
that is so sweetly
turning me to dust

We are waves of people
We don't accept defeat
Carrying generations of their blood
Etched on the palms of our hands and the soles of our feet
We defy the laws of gravity, our cosmic bodies in orbit always revolving
We possess a transformative skin
Continuously moving, constantly evolving

Current crashing, ripping through the earth
Roaring tides behind us, our vicious flood fights
The foundation of millennial’s - conscious, violently beautiful beings
Our loud waters, impossible to ignore, amorously painting our rights

The right, the will, the intense appetite
Flavored by salty words with a sweet impulse for action
Drowning all numbness, consuming the calm which once was
Thinking like philosophers, walking like warriors, as they record our reaction

Thin, musty white air trying to cover the shifting blue hues
The water never stops moving
the ripples inconceivably vast,
Our wave leaves masterpieces of celestial proportions
Our space is here now,
our tomorrow will not echo the past

Ours roots are planted and grown in our cities
Perfectly immortalized in a valiant state of existence
We are waves of people, waves of voices
A digital age of collective resistance

- p.m