you are city buses
and rain slicked streets.
and your neon heart pulses a mile a minute
but i have never seen someone so captivating.
youre an old apartment
with concrete walls
and sometimes in the winter the cold creeps in
but you never know whether to smother it with blankets or to leave.
youre midmorning traffic jams
but instead of anger you accept it and you sit in the car and you soak up life like a wildflower and ive never wanted to be the sun more.

mouth syncing up digital brain,
electrically bounding the physical
with the ethereal analog bond
bound up and wrapped,
in fiber optic blankets,
secrets passing layer to layer
heard only by quadraphonic
receivers echoing out
into a singularity of conciseness,
confirmed by units of two

A distant look in her eyes,
Stretching beyond the horizon.
A battle long fought,
In her dreams so surreal.
A thousand miles did she walk,
Before pausing to rest.
But the lights began to fade,
For it was time for her sunset.

You used to be the golden sun and lingering kisses.
But now you're the reason thorns grow around my heart
and the reason my poetry is filled with metaphors for heartbreak.

I went on a nature walk
with no idea,
no preparation,
only to take some pictures.

At a certain point
I got lost
with no phone
no one but me,
my thoughts,
and the layers of
cold sunken through.

I had no idea where I was,
only faith that I would get out
at some point
if I kept going.

I forgot everything
except this poem, my camera, and my next step.

The best purchase I ever made
was the blackout shade for my bedroom window,
made to allow ignorance towards
the hasty mornings in which you arise.
Glass panels show haze across the valley this January. Did you sneeze?

For a world that revolves around you,
it's beautiful.

Even though the mountains aren't as tall anymore,
and the clouds hang lower—unlike your self esteem, but much like mine—I can still climb these melting piles of guilt in an attempt to reach solitude.
What is solitude?
Can anyone find this in a muddy world that revolves around you?

I want to know the course that the rivers beneath your skin take

I want to know the valleys in your heart and how deep they go

I want to know the canyons in your bones and who put them there

I want to know who's initials are carved into your mind

and the memories that they can no longer call "mine"