Caught in the landslide of memories,
feels like this spiral never ends.
Even the pain it hates me!
It creeps under and pulls me out along.

This thing inside me
can't forget, can't relate.
Never lies, never betrays,
yet I'm dying to forget!

if you show me your soul hidden deep inside I will admire it. show me the worst parts, the broken pieces... so I will know where to start. show me the most damaged parts and I will show you they are still lovable, unique in all the world unduplacated and more valuable than gold.

where should I hide
my love.

while I'm dying for
you to notice me,

you said that it
better to be kept
inside

rather ruin the beauty
of what it is now.

there is a moth that resides on my bedside table
inside the warm lamp like a womb
like an endearing cozy hand
reaching for your face in the middle of a frozen hysteria
he rises from his bed of light every night
a bottom floor full of mirth and fuzz
ready to relay the songs of his memories
slow dancing in the small space of my room like he's memorized where the floor slants and what parts creak
his mouth moves in a jagged frenzy and I am devoured inside the falsetto of a pregnant hum so constant my breathing loops in significant O's
he waits for my eyes to close so that his wings open up
moving the dust to gather itself and move to another part of the house
the fluttering in sync with the wavering of the hypnotic sound waves
the antennae sighing along with the mist outside slowly forming on the windowsill
my head becomes a hot sun and as the beads of sweat trickle he moves closer until he reaches with spindly legs
drying the perspiration from my forehead with a tongue that shushes me to sleep until I am still in a cocoon of silk
telling me that want and need are always the same things
always the same things

Maybe your tongue could be my own
Maybe your teeth are the mirror I’ve been fearing this whole time
Maybe your mouth is where I want to hide forever
Or maybe I want to be trapped within your mind

Maybe I want to see you from the inside
Not hearing what you have to say
But really see you from the inside
In a Jonah sort of way

Maybe I want mine to be your body
Incessant movement where one cannot tell
Where you begin and where I end

Maybe I don’t want it to ever end
Maybe it scares me if it never ends
Will it never end? Or more importantly, will it even start?

Lone your stupor sits.
What reverie
you declare,
ambrosia never stang like this
since last the rain came stinging.

Ah but puddles my dear,
what fun!
I'll watch your splish splash
but let us not forget
the protection glass affords.

I fear large numbers.
I  confess,
it's true.
It's not the hands per se,
rather the eyelashes
and how they remind me of teeth.
They chew me up
with a glance.

Still, what good
could one decimal eyelash hope for
faced with Napoleon's specters.
I'd wager on scarce.

Even so, eyelashes chewed through
my thatcher.
I'll have to buy
a new one.
One that isn't so fond of how the Swiss
process milk.

Not that it's desired
but it's still nice to have a tally
in the loner's column,
now and again.