It is because of you that I am fully attentive
Soundwaves that wash over me from start to end
Music, my only friend

Now, we ride the waves of wifi to get what we need
But our gaze upon an artist is lost
Once our playlists consist of only a few of their songs
Handpicked amongst others, so our entertainment isn't lost

I understand the desire of variety
But I value the intimacy of a record I can hold
Knowing that for a while, it's just me and this music alone

there's a *** of water on the radiator
steaming up the windows
in my tiny bedroom -
the one in brooklyn -
where i was too poor to live in a place with a bedroom door

he's here, and he says he doesn't mind the curtain

there's anonymity in city life,
an ease to being completely alone
while surrounded by people

flush,
with the chill from outside
and the thought -
just the thought -
of his hands on my skin
his skin on my skin

simon and garfunkle on his old record player
sounds of new york
two people,
one bottle of whiskey
how strange to be with someone,
who can make you feel so alone

touch me, please

i got into my car hurriedly
Wednesday, Thursday, saturday
(i chose to walk on friday)
so it wasn't until i had to wait out the rain in my car
sunday, 12 pm
that i looked over,
fully immersed in the scent of your favorite perfume
half expecting you to materialize from the cloud of fragrance occupying the passenger's side
and in my haste from the days previous,
i wasn't yet aware of the tiny pin you left in your place
before dashing out into the city streets
a bobby pin
that must have escaped the locks that touched your skin
it made mine crawl
to think of an object blessed enough
from the graces of an atheist's god
to be given the opportunity
to touch a being so holy
and there i sat
in a parked car,
cursing everything that made me into the awkward, 5 ft. 8
man i am
longing to be close enough to her
so that i might
smell the scent of lavender and honey
that lingered from her embrace
but instead,
i am the stalky man who can not seem to say goodbye

Kiss me good-bye until the thunder stops clapping,
until the moon starts glowing, until we all crawl
back to the fireplace, where the logs are burning
and the kids are laughing. Take me to the underground,
to a place I’ve never heard about.
Make me forget how I’ve hurt you.
Ask me questions, even if I can’t give you
all the answers.
Please accept my excuses, even if they’re useless.
Drink coffee with me, beneath the terrace,
as the smokers vape, and the drinkers guzzle.
Tell me what you love about the sunshine
that peeks under the rainclouds.
And tell me to stop,
if I’m talking too much.
Because I can listen to you speak,
on this cassette tape, over and over.
Press play.

A platter of black plastic
Spinning circles at a speed
That fill the air with music
The inspiration that I need

I close my eyes and listen
To every hiss and pop
I keep the arm retracted
So the music doesn't stop

The little worn out player
With the sweet distorted sound
Takes me back to being younger
It's where memories are found

It's magic made of plastic
Spinning out musical streams
That box that pops and crackles
And fills my vinyl dreams

There are still
people in the
World
With
Clean eyes

The people
Who have
A pleasant
Profile

Their pure
Scent is
Another simile
For goodness

I've lost my
Bronze shiny
Anchor

Therefore
Anaforas in
Before spring
Blossoms do
Afloat

Me and you
Are a rolling
Records

Cosily unbound
Wraped around
The ancient aquamarine
Amphoras

As the numinous, dire
Paragraphs of our lifes
Know also of the succulent
Sweetness. Inspiration.
And everything.

I am. You.
Omnipresent

We collide with marvels.
Rainbowy bubble plops.
The world is back again.
Trickeling over tenderly
Undulated membranes.
Also the eyelid seas.

United in the ephemeral,
Ever changing images.

Desire and goodness.
The day and those nights.