Daydreams rescue me from the harshness of the mundane.
I see us on a mountaintop, I feel your hand in mine.
I experience the safety of your embrace and the electricity of your kiss.
I bask in the warmth of your smile and
Let my heart fly away with hope.
I imagine our home, a small cottage overflowing with contentment.
I imagine our bedroom, a soft bed sits between its walls,
Still disheveled from last night's pleasure.
I see your figure in the shower, as I brew coffee in the early morning.
I feel the desire in the goodbye kiss that makes me late for work.
I envision the power of our love.

However, imagination is also brutal torture,
That sometimes runs rampant through my mind.
I feel my heart break in two, as I see you with someone else.
I watch you loving on her in the way I wish you only did to me.
I see her walk away from you, but the pining in your chest remains.
I am convinced that as I lay here dreaming of nothing but you,
You are consumed with thoughts of her.
I imagine your cries of pain are caused by her absence
and I know that I will never be able to fill the cracks she so
mercilessly hammered into your heart.

one of these days
i will stop falling in love
with angel-headed boys
residing entire oceans
and plateaus away from me

the ways that their honeysuckle words
drip from their lips like honey
only to cover me
consume me
drown me

i'll cease thinking about how golden hair
would feel between the tips of my fingers
how their voice would sing
and reverberate within the hollow prison
of my rib cage
reciting rimbaud
rilke
camus

i will stop being tripped
up by the unyielding curve of pale
cupid-bow lips and lithe
long fingertips
tracing collars
shoulderblades
eyelids

continuously rendering me
hopeful
hoping
helpless

the ways that the candlelight
would illuminate the rises of your cheeks --

soft, sullen, sunken,
stretched, silhouetted.

the ways that my fingertips
would trace the point of your nose,
the fluttering frames of your eyelashes,
the ever-running ridges of your spine.

how you would speak to me
about far-off lands, gods and Greeks --

singing, sighing, searching,
sleeplessly, sightlessly.

the ways that your nails
would ebb and flow over the distant
distinct disconnected dashes of those
that dared to walk before those like us.

meager.
minuscule.
misplaced.

Tepid summer nights and
     holes in the soles of your feet.
Holes in your wrists, no?
Soft fluttering of dusted eyelashes and
     the pale pink of morning sun as you turn your cheek.
Blushing like a schoolgirl, no?
***** fingertips on dirtied skin and
     toothy smiles, moth-eaten pillowcases, stale whispers.
*'Pour susurrer des mots doux', non?

drowning in tiny oceans.
schiele-esque nudes
     in german poetry books.
speaking in tongues.
visiting graves
     in two different territories.
ginger cats with moonstone eyes.
****** noses
     in street lamp-yellowed alleys.

In wilderness, I wait for her—
Flocks of wildfowl are landing,
I watch the sun as it saunters,
Ice starts to form on cold lake.
By smoldering fire, I cannot keep
Warm, embers die in plain night,
Only dreams are comfort as I lie
And when I wake the sun is gone.

Are you really so far away
That I cannot touch you,
And feel the crinkles of your sleeve
Underneath my fingers upon your arm?

Would you simply look around
And turn away again,
Not knowing that I talk
To you all by myself?

Even if you could listen,
And not hear a word;
Would you know that I’m
Just a little bit crazy?

Just a little bit crazy
With longing for you.

How I long to see  
even the shadow  
on your face,
because I know
then we’ll be close again.