sleepy
it's one am. and the colors are flowing
remember those lights changing in the attic,
sloped ceilings and a hookah
we sat on the floor and he stared at the doorknob,
and we discussed the width of the closet
pillows on the ground,
people on the pillows,
faces in shadows, smiles and heavy-lidded eyes
love for those friends who aren't friends but are.
love for those friends who are more.

we drink we smoke we laugh we listen to grime and dance around the tin foil and smoke and the blinds are closed and the door is locked and we have to be quiet because shh, the neighbors. and I didn't know you before but now i do because you're drunk and i don't know what i am but i said hi and you adjusted your yellow beanie and smiled at me. you make music, i learn,
and we talk and we talk and we talk

then driving, the streetlights flood,
he said it was like surfing and that he was chill and he couldn't remember and he stepped in the snow with socked feet, he lost his birkenstocks
he found his birkenstocks
he flipped his hair and his red eyes were content
and then Let it Be came on the radio and I sang the tune while my legs twitched and my foot twitched on the gas pedal and she laughed from the backseat and I wondered how wide the road was and how much air there is to breathe in the world, and then the cold felt so great
red lights flashing, stop. go. home.

i'm smiling at the orange of the fire
there's a hamster running besides me and i wonder if he is happy
they were happy,
and i forget where the money is but she slipped it in my pocket
snacks in the kitchen
its one am
drink some water,
there's always Marcie's Diner in the morning.

My hands tingle,
looking at your ***** brown mop of hair,
fresh from the shower and as fluffy as can be,
wanting to brush my fingers through the softness.

We lie on separate beds,
watching the white puffs of smoke,
like miniature clouds,
making the dark sky pure.

I watch your enchanted face,
eyes hovering over every detail your emotions sculpt,
watching how the city skyline illuminates your eyes,
pure love sits in them.

I want to let them rain,
Release my eyes from the pain,
Pretend we were never on the same bed once,
As we had kissed under the setting sun,
while the puffs of white rolled gently along.

You belonged in my arms,
Arms that don't feel your warmth any longer,
That are cold as they lay by my side.

We were sitting in metal lawn chairs, off balance,
rocking between one chair leg and the next
on the cracked sidewalk just in front
of some ice cream shop I don’t remember the name of.
But I do remember how the drips of melted chocolate
looked like two teardrops sitting on your orange shirt collar,
and I do remember how the breeze would fit
through the triangle-shape of sky in the crook of your elbow
as you leaned in on the table just to steal a lick from my cone.
I hate salmon and sea foam colors, but somehow the reflection
of the bold letters in the metal shine of the counter looked good
on your cheekbones, highlighting you in the softest ocean neon.
And I thought we’d take a walk on the shore like a Jason Mraz song,
but we just made love in the hotel room, my sand-stained bikini bottoms
drying on the balcony ledge, seagulls landing on your socks
with the toes still soaked cause we just couldn’t wait
to jump in, like I do to your skin, when we’re alone and dancing
on top of one another to the muffled sound of the waves
hitting the screens of the sliding door.

I could pack myself
for months inside of you, just travel through your smile like a boarding pass.
And you’d think I’d be out of words by now, but I savor you
like sour patch kids on the car ride, stuffing my face with your sweetness
until my tongue is sore and I have to remedy myself
with another night of tangling myself
in your arms like umbrella stands, shading me
from the curve of the sun as it dies,
fading into the night like we do
when we toss ourselves into our cheap, road trip evenings,
all the money we shouldn’t have spent, and the way our bodies line up
end to end.

The engine was still running when she leaned over the center console. He didn't get the chance to throw the **** thing into park before she started to sing. It was a simple song with a slow and steady rhythm, a thumping bass line, and in this interpretation- an early ******. Her amusement melted rather quickly. The look on her face was beautiful. He didn't realize fast enough that, through the rearview mirror, she was wearing a face of terror. As they rolled down the hill, he realized it was both a wonderful and embarrassing way to die.

i want to be held the way our galaxy holds the earth
there once was a boy that held me how the sky holds a sunset orange
beautifully
but temporarily
i painted his edges in soft watercolors, wrote his mistakes in gentle calligraphy, made something hurtful turn into something healing
he loved her more
and let me go
and now i find myself looking at someone else from the corner of my eyes, wondering if a tiny, flickering feeling can be valid at all among the fire of my others
i hear a requiem for a dream and my heart flutters like it did two years ago
two years
i want to be held like the galaxy holds the sun, the stars, the earth,
in a delicate orbit
a bright light in dark space

My best poem'll be my suicide note
the very last thing I ever wrote
a goodbye to those who don't even care
but those I love, because life's unfair.
But this ain't it it's not good enough
but I swear one day I write the right stuff
and it'll be goodbye to the whole world
and so comes the darkness, black wings unfurled

I burnt the tip of my cigarette into my
Tumbler to **** two habits with one stone.
Though the **** coughed its last sigh and polluted a decently-priced
Rye, I don't trust that the addiction died.

Tipped my finger to the 'tender to fill a new glass,
Struck the flint to the tinder, a tobacco mask.
They poison slow, but the effects are fast.

You, like these habits, are in the past,
Waiting for me at the bottom of a flask, swearing always
"It'll be the last."