Time is measured
By machines, stars,
Dials, seasons
And all sorts
Of unconscious,
Impersonal equations.
When we measure
Time by the comings and goings
Of people,
Then it becomes personal.

Everything about you is miraculous.
I have no words to give you
because they all taste like apples,
when they should taste like pomegranates.

It is all too generic, nearly – spiritless
to call you beautiful.
I am merely
existing in this dazzling
vapor of mania, that I
so             clearly               see
buzzing mad about you like hornets.
Only psychotic pills can describe what you mean.
Everything makes sense, in that, it doesn't.

I want to tell you all my dreams. And somehow communicate
that I think you are far more staggering
than I could ever articulate.

Isn't it a sick shame
that those – I mean those
wickedly gorgeous human beings, those with souls
heavy and earthy as antique clocks,
souls like tree moss
living for ages on wood sheds;
souls warm and tormented
like voodoo shops and dreamy sunsets;
souls like ruptured stones,
in-grown toenails and volcanoes –
those who,
should take compliments
and tuck them away on the wide shelves of their hearts,
instead –  
handle them like steaming acids.

I only wish you would

take more than a kiss from me.
but I feel content
also obscene and distracted;
listless yet
serene – when we
share a close space.

The aesthetic I find, I cannot ignore
nor quite place.

It smokes. It intoxicates.

I want to describe the spices in your curves,
(surely you must know) – the organic magic of them
and how they flow, sway-swaying
gentle stream, always waiting to be
dipped into.

But, there is
an energy far more hypnotic than lips or hips,
it is familiar yet new, and constant
and constantly

enticing,
beneath your skin, behind your tongue
somewhere twisted within
your twisted brain –
it gives me
sharp visions of grandeur, like African whiskey;
I can hardly come back from it.

Your dark eyes beaming in the moon rays
like violet plums chilling in water.
Sweet hell.
My heart hurts so brilliant.

When you are near
I thank the stars I that I am, too.
I close my eyes and I am a poet.
But once, as is inevitable
you go; I am helpless
as I am when the clouds move.

The satisfaction I felt
evaporates, in seconds,
just as it came.

one, two, three...

I feel directionless

and ordinary

in all the sober haze.

4/19/2015
dedicated to the girl I used to be

crushed right next to the
broken glass.
"I don't write
nearly as much poetry
as I used to,"
I tell her in the orange light
of the German café
this time it is shining in through.

"Like you used to
before you were sedated?"
No.
I suppose it must be the weather.

I remember dancing to morrissey
in my darkened room at 3:43 am
on a January tuesday,

it was a good lay, good lay,good lay
Like some sort of charicature of teenage one dimensionality

I remember picking up a half empty
Heineken at a dorm room right before
winter finals like some sort of charcature of teenage pretentiousness and

putting my tights on, "my mom thinks I'm shopping, cute, right?"
Old floor crushing my shins minute before like some sort of charcature of teenage indulgences

"Don't you sort of miss the cold?"
I ask, picking at the cake and
the girl I used to be this time last year
infinitely more innocent weeps at

confrontation

they call me: gypsy, runner, thief
be you my gold, my feet, my greed

meet me on streets
we have not seen
unwarrant wants, deep breaths, relief

I will not front;
give you my teeth

we're breaking rules, my dear
we're weak

I am not yours

o b v i o u s l y

claim me
this own
without defeat

I'm chasing dreams
but i don't sleep

my pillow smells like you
like need

so lost behind
what I can't seek

f i n d i n g that time holds no belief

that I was freed
c u r i o u s l y

I watched you leave my street
quickly

that I should wait
so p a t i e n t l y

to bring your body back to me

I will not beg
I wouldn't plead

but I would have you still believe
you'd still have me if you should leave

should you come back I would agree

for you i'd gather everything
not rings, but things that you might need

I'd love you deeper than the sea

in love with you , i am
*a l r e a d y

You were my missing piece
but I was just a spare part
You were my safe haven
but I was just a roof over your head
You are my everything
now and back then
but I was just a thing you needed
every now and then
Maybe next time I'll read the fine print