the catholic nurse
all sensitive
caring noticing
everything
what can she think
of my hot/cold torment

always near blowing it
living in the fast lane
so friendly kind
the girls
dewy eyed
wanda abandoned me
bolton is in my hands

and yet my coldness
hurts
the more emotional
they stay
trying to find a reason
for my ice-like suspicion
fish eyes
coldly indifferent eyes
suspect everything that moves

socialising just to be loud
compensate for cold
lack of essential trust
warmth
i love them
despite myself
my desire to love
is unconscious and gigantesque

i never know
when i'm going to miss someone
strange coldness perplexing
i've got to work to get devotion
but once i get it
i really get people on my side
there are my people
who can survive
my shark-like coldness
and there are those
who want something
more personal
i can be very devoted to those
who can stay the course

my soul is aching
for an impartial love of people
i'm at war with myself.

don't take life too seriously
don't take life too
don't take life
don't take
give.

i never read the end
of the book that you gave me
at the very beginning of us
because right now
you are exactly the same:

*you are like a book
i couldn't keep reading

this is not a poem
more than it is a reminder:
*life goes on

You said my name,
   so differently this time.

You spitted the three-word lie
   I'm too naive to believe—
   "I love you"

I sat in silence waiting
   for your next line,
   that I already knew
   on the back of my mind

"But, I'm sorry"

I should be the one
  who's feeling sorry—
  acted like I can turn your frozen heart
  into a golden one

You left me a question,
   I'm searching for the answer;

If love will never be enough, then what will?

I lay close to you,
Curled to the shape of your stonework body
Tracing the vines crawling on your arms
To the lavenders springing
From your cracked palms
And your back is the meadow I bury myself in
Half-picking foxgloves and goldenrods
Growing on your spine

Day after day, I watch you
Wondering about the dreams behind
Your eyelids covered in moss,
Softly kissing the dandelion dust
Collecting on your cheeks
While stringing a garland of daisies
To wear around your head

I sit here, longing to taste the dewdrops
Hanging at the corners of your mouth
But until your wake, I will await
The sweet honeysuckle
That is your tongue