It would take me 230 hours to walk from the spot
where you first told me you'd like to be my partner
to the place where,
nearly eight months later,
you apologized
for breaking my heart.

Two-hundred and thirty hours.

According to my calculations,
which I etched in my new writing pad,
I have one-hundred and one poems left until I reach my total.

If I write a poem each day,
it will take me almost three-and-a-half more months
before your vision
is faded from my memory, and by that time
it will almost be December
when your birthday falls,
and I'll have to start over.

And that time is not counting
old photographs re-surfacing,
the pain of knowing I've been erased,
or chance encounters on our campus, see

I have been eliminated twice now
by women who I have loved like nothing else
and I'm beginning to fear
that something is wrong with my love, that I am too potent
or terrifying
to have success.

I want someone to leave me,
and leave me well; I want to be able to call them
when I am sick, or alone, or dying of desperation,
when I have lost my home or someone in my family,
and vice versa.

I want someone to feel the same small attachment and desire
to still cultivate my well-being
as I do
for those whose voices I no longer hear in my sleep.

We both have kind eyes,
And are growing
In our separate ways
And that is
Oddly comforting to me

My Imaginary Lover and I array the night sky with passion entwined into one
By the Seaside, we fled and flew into the air
And by the Moon's Hands,
We strolled through cosmic Air

My Imaginary Lover and I array the night sky,
In a moment to behold,
With a penchant deeper than the Cloud's depth,
We flew and sailed towards the moon,
And by the Moon's edge,
There we stood,
In a flow of glow abundance
As the moon held us in time's hands
As the Moon lit up our Glory,
There we stood,
As time stood still,
By the Moon's Edge

My Lover and I array the night sky in a moment of glory,
By the Moon's Edge

*Evna-Luna©

I wont let this dammed world take me,

she said I had lost it, maybe I was going crazy.

daring girl, I love the way the sun shines through her dress.

I think she has gone crazy, told me she was depressed.

how can nine months fade in a instant,
at what point two lovers grow distant.

this is not my love ballad, my plea for your time.
she asks if im doing well.

I can assure you love, I am doing fine.

I may not have the most perfect physique,
but as I sit here,
having a beer and becoming aware of myself,
I realize that it is all that I need.

My neck, though it grows stiff on occasion,
is the perfect ***** for the face of a lover.

My spine is long and narrow,
but crunched into itself
from years of compacting.

I want to reach inside my skin and set it free.

My shoulders are sloped, but sturdy,
and carry the weight of a thousand worlds.

One of my biceps is bigger than the other,
but that's okay,
its a natural phenomenon
and when I flex my right arm
it makes me feel strong, and powerful.
Capable.

I may not be thin enough
for you to count each tiny, delicate rib, but
I have a strong abdomen
and can do many sit-ups
or pull myself out from under you,
sit up suddenly to kiss you,
and anchor myself to the earth, yes -

My hips aren't as narrow as I'd like them to be,
but my quadriceps are strong and sinuous

My reflexes, feline
and my calves pure muscle,

I know
because ever since I turned thirteen,
I have been staring at them

after soccer practice in my cleats and shinguards
at the pool as the water drips off my legs and catches in the hairs
I've worked so hard to groom
in the morning as I stretch and caress their skin-

My feet
wiggle their toes into the moist, warm earth and keep me firm
and my eyes
pry into you,
always seeking
for things unknown

Your work isn't very good,
You have four women who've misconceived you,
and your drinking is a bit of a mess.

You smoke too much *** and you're really beginning to fill out your underwear.

But you're writing,
aren't you?

I don't know if anybody told you
that you look like young Winona Ryder,
or that the skin around your eyelids
looks so perfect when you smile, but

You're a devil

And you move just like you like

And no one can tell you anything
When you bite your lip that nice

At least I'm here,
At least I'm writing,
And feeling full.

At least this sustenance,
This painful brew,
Nourishes me.

At least I boil and then drink the thorns
And feel no sting
Of sadness in my throat

Anymore

Talk to me more about miscommunications.

Tell me more about
These jumbled lips,
Misshapen teeth,
Boxed-off smiles you're carting around.

Convince me one more time that you're so perfect,
Please.

Cut my wings and ask me to take flight,
Again, I dare you.

I was strong
And in need of redemption
I was lost
And deserved a response -

Craft another elegant lie about how you loved me
And I'll use it as fuel for these flames.