Barefoot in fields of flowers,
     in the shadow of your watercolour mountains.
Holding the hands of birdmen,
     in the glow of your firefly killing jar.

let's ***** our romance
     from broken cathedral windows.
I'll kiss your feet
     as they bleed from the shards of cherry wine bottles.
let's carve out our stomachs
     and eat them with coffee and the morning chorus.
I'll watch you make a mess of prostitutes
     so that pink and white clouds at sunrise mean nothing else to me.
let's go and sit by the sea
     or the Seine, I don't mind,
let's drown on parched cobblestone streets.

You have a big heart,
I love to ****.
Good-night.

I feel your thoughts
choking me
I don't need you here
get out of my head
get the **** out of my head
please
just leave me alone
please
leave.

New Year’s Celebration

Among mad men in drowning corridors,
built on rusty foundations,
tethered to rotting, sugar-coated
grins, and nestled in the trashcan
of our neighbor’s backyard –
a candle we cannot see burns
out over the mountains, the
ones draped in vacation photographs,
the same set your kitten is named after,
a geological setting, a historical
lesson, a discipline of chances
strewn into another’s handshake
sweat left on the public
bathroom door handle, a smudge
of lipstick left on the countertop,
next to powder – a scene
unimagined for nonexistent detectives.
In a drunken state, we decide to play
Gunshots or Fireworks?
And we laugh when we are wrong.

I slip into the languid,
Red body-warming liquid,
Sinking so slowly...
Plummeting backwards
At slow-motion speed...

Through timeless fathoms
I enter a dream of gulls
On silver wings
Flapping overhead,
Drawing out screeches

Endless screeches, mingling
With my tumbling,
And tingling
With my mumbling.
Lying in a purple sea.

I felt silly.

I felt silly because I didn't want to go to sleep and I was ******* exhausted.

But I wanted to soak in that starry soulshine you shimmer.

It's so easy to fall asleep
in it's radiant rippling warmth,
to float in it.

And it's just as easy to
stay awake in it as well,
to swim in it.

There are three things on this list:
Sleep, and basking in
your existence.

The latter is right at the top,

and  sleep  is
  all   the   way
      at    the
bottom.

Writing about you
is all the space
in-between.

But hey, I won't get too deep,
Because it's truly time for

sleep.

I know that I did this to myself
subconsciously and silently
repulsive and frightening
to all but the select few
minds whom run on delusion