I wonder if you think about me, how many times your beautiful mind brushes the idea of mine.
I think about The Times we spent laughing over things no one else would understand, talking to each other about things no one else got.
I wonder where your mind goes when you're drifting off to sleep, do you think of what we could have been or what we could still be. I want you more than ever now, I can hardly sleep. But I know that I can never have you.

so we are in the same time zone

a first clue that makes me think,
mmm,
you could be my next door neighbor,
wouldn’t that be weird

knock on the wall twice,
I’ll know, knock back thrice,
and will hear you cracking up

and
if you are down the block, across the street,
or down south in Eastern Narnia Florida,
or in Eastern Narnia Ohio,
where the palms are swaying,
and the spring snows still hanging on,
doubled over with laughter
at this preposterous notion,
I’ll know,
cause mutual cracklings
are airborne contagious

and I hope to never be vaccinated
against laughing out loud

1:47am again somewhere Narnia nearby

Let us make it feel brand new

Let us make it feel nice and clean

Lust sparked,
Pupils dilated,
Gentle touch,
High breath,
- We did this.

there is no value in a poem that reads
_____
_____
____­
M M l i f e s u c k s x x x n o p o e m i g o t

just

nerve; crap bs, a denial of craft

seek the intelligent intelligible,
kiss the sensational thrill that
emotion harvests with resonating tenses
that beg our brains to differ, sense

this claims,
there is no value in no words is
a hoax cloaked as art by the weak,
make thy metaphors metastasize,
my every cell, a preposition,
preposterous and precious and
comforting in their
privations and provocations

speak to us in alpha and
line our eyes wide,
with pictures at an exhibition
of a faun immobile and beauteous

let me hang on every word of yours and
let it be the raft that sees me happily
unsafe home

take your bs line poem  
shove it down your silent voice

this is not avant garde; this is insulting

p.s.  write me a smile and all will be_____.

Suburban streets are stifled with traffic when school gets out
and righteous rain falls from the cloudy, gray sky,
making the red taillights of cars glisten and glare
directly into drivers' squinting eyes.
Children rush rapidly between cars to get to their own,
as pitiful parents weren't prepared for the rain.
Did any know that one of them today
was calm even as they grew insane?
Patience inside pained people is a terrible thing,
for they can always see when the end is in sight.
Like they are the wearers of robes and bearers of scythes,
they know when one is approaching the night.
A screech of tires, or screams, only one is sure
a fateful falling, anyone could have foretold this crime
bones crunch and a head hits the asphalt too hard.
It is far too late, when we know it's the last time.