when i think of you
i feel life trapped.
when i think of you
i feel one hundred years of melancholy
lusting after the sun,
but being unable to look upwards
at it
because of how easily and effortlessly
it can burn a hole through the dark
that has become home.

when i think of you
the single time we met
i feel forgotten fields
the color of mint,
a body of love idling
left to rot,
lilies thrown in the dirt
because your hands have forgotten how to hold them,
the first page of a novel scanned
and then discarded,
like the obituary of an old friend
you could have called back
(but didn't).

but see, that's all just silly
because, truthfully, i know nothing (about you)
aside from your name;
aside from the ocean being too deep and wide and blue
to find comfort
or peace from the earth,
though the earth will not move
because she herself holds many fearless, crazed oceans
within her
that have yet to be named.

in the   fragility of
a raw monday
morning,
you knocked on my
door with
   three single lilies
between your fingers,
your cheeks stained   red
from the   bruising of
the wind and the   sharp
of the rain

you came to me with
a   smirk on your wet
lips and i asked if you
always show your
   affection with the
likes of   death.

Your "love", a fertile patch, grows
Flowers for my sick head--
Lilies for the foot of my bed;
A fragrant blanket for my grave.

Oh Rock! Upon You I build my foothold
Don't let me wander off astray
Tie a knot of a bell on my pleading throat
You who reign over all, King of Old!

Seasick and half dead from the flooding dangers of my vanity
Help! I'm getting ****** down-dry, a slice of my deadly miry pie
You're hand not too short to lend me life anew and of serenity

Oh Endless! Awakened from a dire sleep
I come before Your tireless feet
Bathe in springs of abundant grace
'Til my hands grow tireless toiling the earth for the shade of Your face

Time may move its hands of tricks and deceit
Stagnant pool of smirking clocks
Right before I accept defeat
Stay my hand with everlasting wings

Oh Steadfast! Aiming towards love with eyes so true
To You who deserves where all praise due is due
You look through me, creepy candy coating
Embraced with arms everlasting

Love of which knows no cease
One desire of which heals all disease
Dogs lie await to be fed by the crumbs of You, Purest.
Show me great and mighty things thy mind hast not knowest

You won't be a doctor
Because of those paper face masks.
You wont touch your fingertips together
But maybe you'll touch my fingertips -
Touch your fingertips to my aching edges.
Nose knuckles knees and elbows.
I promise my skin is not made of velvet
Or paper towels,
Just wishes and deep pores
Filled up like swimming pools of wonder.
They say curiosity was what killed the cat,
But I know the animal doctors pumped
Drugs into my feline until she slowly slipped away
And I know how long and hard I cried over losing a lifelong pet,
Never having known that type of loss until then.
Didn't matter how cat-elderly she was.
But I know you won't be a doctor because of those paper face masks.
You
With your heart of alabaster plaster,
Paint splatter,
Striped hoodies and rainbows,
Scribble faster.
You're teaching me how to be.
And each day I silently thank you
From my brows down to my feet, down to the soles.
Our souls have shaken hands and enjoyed the fit they found.
Tick tock.
Why wait when the time is now?
I think we know what we think we know.
Don't you know?
Know how you slay me with compliments -
Cut me straight down the middle so my left and right have to find each other again
Before I even have the time to blush.
I asked you your favorite flower
Even though I was pretty sure you had told me already.
I wanted to make sure.
Lilies.
And because of that movie I know the lily means "I dare you to love me"
And I have to wonder
Is it really your favorite or are you sending me a message?
Our world is enveloped in messages
Of the Tumblr Facebook Skype and text varieties
If I sent a carrier pigeon, would it make its way to you?
The past has a funny way of repeating itself
And I've never seen a carrier pigeon
But who knows,
I could put those babies back in business.
Tick tock.
You said ***** the what ifs.
Let's hold dear our future plans.
If it makes you happy, why do anything else?
It feels like I'm on the operating table
Awaiting something too big to comprehend
I think of your hands and the curve of your being fitting with mine
Eyes closed. Chapstick whispers.
Soft lashes that stay where they belong.
The operating table doesn't seem so cold
And I question everything I thought I knew.
But one thing I know for sure
Is that you'll never be a doctor.
Because of those paper face masks.
And that's fine by me
Because I don't think I need an operation
To be me
*For you.