The glance when you turn your head.
Electricity forming in the sockets of my eyes.
You feel like a blanket freshly pulled from the dryer.
The static undying.
I play coy.
Nervousness never known by me.
I feel the escape in your lips.
I feel inadequate.
You never fail to please.
Soft in nature.
Baby, be kind to me.

Golden hour always treats the earth
and it's inhabitants well,
giving every animal
a yellow and orange halo,
the plants and weeds
beads of light to adorn them
like jewelry,
and the people around you
a hazy glow.

m.e.

i can’t write about what it feels like
to run my fingers through your hair
or feel your hands on my skin
(no matter how much i want to)
i can’t speak to the softness of your lips
or what it sounds like
when you whisper my name
(no matter how much i want to)
i don’t know what the skin on your hips
feels like after you’ve showered
or what it’s like to wake up
to your breath on my shoulder
(no matter how much i want to)
i can’t write about the feeling
of our skin
soft and rough
holding hands
(oh god, i want to)
i can’t write about you
in anything other than the abstract
no
matter
how
much
i
want
to

I smile a lot
and never cry
my heart is soft,
my mind is sharp,
my eyes are dulled with truth.

in clouds i ponder in oft
the fluff so precise
wondrous but frowns
for I only beseech them in dice
If i'm feeling down
I see the colors of the sky
If i'm up, to them I wave goodbye.

To them, they go unnoticed
not a care in the world
Unless I'm touched by a hateful lotus
in that case the natural art unwhirls
Orange- blue- white A phone click beholds
then saved in my album labeled
' cloudy days of old'