My home died 8 years ago and I
Never understood why—
No flames that licked our gingerbread house to the ground;
No earth-shattering wave that swept us off our feet;
No ghosts to keep us company—
Just a deep, lingering silence growing
Louder, and louder, more defined
As the hollow floors whined
In rebellion of the years glazed by.

You and I we live for the endless road under our tires and the sound of crickets in the moonlight. For the smell of wet asphalt after a long rain mixed with the smell of smoke from our breath. And when I'm high my mind escapes but I can't express these beautiful thoughts in a way you'll understand. So we sit there, you driving and me stealing glances at your peaceful face, and we don't speak, but your hand in mine says a million things in it's own. You say nothing but I hear every word. I love you, you say.  And with my wide eyes staring so longingly at yours you know I mean it too. Our midnight drive takes us into another world. It's somewhere in this world, beyond the infinity of stars across an Indigo sky, that I fell in love with you. The funny thing is, falling in love really does feel like falling. I don't exactly know where we're going to land, but with reckless abandon, we jumped anyways. Our midnight drive has only just begun, but I thank you for taking the wheel when I couldn't. We're already home, but let's keep driving.

Time.
It slips away from my fingers,
It's like I'm chasing a feather.

I run, stumble, and fall.
It evaporates in thin air.
Does it even care?

I gasp, I think it's gone,
but the ticking in my ears persists.

I cover them in hopes to drown the sound out,
but instead it beats louder in my head.

It's like a constant reminder of what I have to do...do you hear that clock ticking too?

Time is running out I suppose with every breath I take, but I must live for living's sake.

Because many would like to be in my place still
With time left to fill
With dreams left to meet.
With hope left to seek.
With loved ones left to cherish.
With poems left to write,
with today still in sight.

3.12

For no one particular,

I can only assume that you feel like love. Rather, your
fleece under my palms, like soft summer sand, burns.
But I love that and therefore must love you.
There’s anger running off my tongue, too cold. It’s
March, and I am not a fan of this, of you.


3.21

Went for a run on a projected-to-be beautiful day,

The sky rained angry. Though the hail did not last long,
it only seemed to pelt my face when I thought of you. Even the
sky pushes me forward. The flowers you gave me last week have died.

I didn’t even forget to water them.


4.8

To the one I now love less,

Admiring many new beards passing through
the line at the coffee shop this morning. From here,
even squinting, none of them resemble you. This
is satisfying. One orders an extra shot of espresso. Strong. I
think I have moved on.


4.9

A guy in line,

Your sport coat and sling bag hold you together well.
Elegant glue I do not often find around this part of town.
I am window-shopping. I haven’t worked in a week,
and even then I couldn’t afford you.

4.16

Eavesdropping,

I ordered an Earl Grey.
“It’s no big deal,” the barista said in some northern dialect.
I don’t belong in this conversation, but at least I am listening.
That’s what you wanted, right? Earl Grey. No big deal. Bite marks
on my tongue grow deeper still.

It's late and I'm numb.

I don't remember you leaving,
I'm retracing every action you did before I realized you were gone.

You dancing around the living room is the last thing I recall,
after that nothing at all.

Im beginning to wonder if you were even real.
Since day one I knew,
it was too good to be true.

Maybe I'm too drunk.
Maybe I'm just dreaming.