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.

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.

I‘m telling myself that I‘m not
in love with you
because you‘ve never made me cry
(though you have,
once,
just once, and I try to forget it ever happened
because it was stupid
and I was childishly jealous
for no reason).

It‘s so easy
to lie to myself, because
we only see each other once in a while.

But when I do see you, my heart races.
You smile at me and my knees buckle.
You hold my gaze and I can barely breathe.

I want to kiss you.
I want to be held in your arms and I want to kiss you and kiss you and kiss you.

I miss the sheer height of you
And the breadth (of your knowledge)
And putting my arms around the width of you.

I miss the whole of you
The body and soul of you.