long nights
distract me with haunting thoughts
while panicked tears gather
in the folds of the sheet

(innocence has lost its luster-
been whittled down to the bone.
too soon after it's left
we want it back most of all)

the boy across the street
smokes a bowl to stop his screams
and the girl who lived down the road
took pills to make her breathing slow
and slow
to a residual stop.

there used to be a time
when we all ran to the park
in the middle of the night
before stars started scowling
and playgrounds told our secrets

now what once were children
have become broken hearts
and broken minds,
burnt cigarettes
and burnt fingertips,
fractured bones
and fractured people,
shattered glass
and
shattered souls.

You are the manifestation of perfection.
There's not a flaw you possess that doesn't outshine the stars,
there's not a word you utter that doesn't create its own alphabet,
and there's not an action you take that doesn't inspire a revolution.
While the rest of the universe is black and white,
you reflect prismatic waves in the eyes of everyone you pass.
The flowers in your hand couldn't compare to the fingers holding them,
the same ones that brought me back to life when they tucked my hair behind my ear
like tucking the sun into your pocket.
And maybe you mistook the sun for another old jelly bean
because every time you smile I see it shine through your teeth.
Your teeth are jagged like a mountain range
and every word you whisper is another flake of snow gently gracing the summit.
When you move an orchestra performs,
muscles and trumpets, ligaments and cellos all flow in pure harmony.
Sometimes I think music was written simply to accompany your body.
Looking at your body I could believe the world really is a safe place;
from the curve of your shoulder to the round of your heel,
everything is smooth and peaceful.
I'm not afraid that once you're gone your presence will be lost
because everything you touch is left with a phosphorescent glow,
a constant reminder that perfection does not only exist in myths
but in everything.

A starless sky blinds me
in an empty ocean
drowning
The night is too cold
for warm hearts
or warm thoughts
Stagnant wind cuts through me
raw skin and cracked bones
uncovered
The perfect terrain for
feeling       vacant
                               lifeless
                                           *frozen

I would never try to paint your face
because I love it precisely for the way it changes.
The endless night that is your eyes
could never be illustrated,
the millisecond it takes for you to smile
cannot be shown on paper,
and the rough texture of unshaven cheeks
can't be felt on a canvas.
I would never try to paint your face
but if I did I would paint it on velvet.
Flakes of gold would pepper your nose
like the sun kissed freckles I've memorized,
sheets of ivory could be inlaid
to mimic the pigment of your skin,
and only diamonds could shine as bright
as the artful glint in your squinting eyes.
I would never try to paint your face
because it's impossible to depict
something so close
to divine.