i'd like to
meet someone and
be weird with her :

clever texting
between classes, short-
sweet thoughtplumes, sent.
to you.

cheeks blush the reddest;
(if i were to peck
them, i think)
with romantic symmetry
when we talk to each other
           with giggles
           and curiosity

a
c  e  l  l
divides

there is saturated optimism

lurking in the threads which weave

between our blanket's thick long sleeves.

every layer compiles rich warmth and graceful weight,

the tendencies and favors constantly accumulate.

this compatibility tends to near motivate

the crawling shivers which slowly evaporate and

the pessimism to dissolve.

then, steadily accelerate.

if there was ever optimism

inside the threads i've long woven

where our blanket's warmth had suddenly frozen,

then the shivers which constantly knit across my heart

have been stitched inside out from the very start.

i read poetry in the morning
with chai, stains awoken
and i’d like to believe
i can remember at least one hundredth
of the photomemoirs i’ll make
walking home from science class today;
because that walk is all my heart sees
and my brain knows not
to see things how i would write them -  
.
then i noted the monarch butterflies
dancing to the tunes of their
pheromonic wingharp love unknown,
swiftly along colorful breezes;
when i walked home,
and then i felt this strange feeling -
there is too, a beauty in being alone

and my lover
will be a
w
     i
         n
            d
                y
                 evening;
                              dreamdrift
(away from those old seashells, illuminating
milky starlight along a
f r a g m e n t e d
coastal memory)
                then blow life into my weary sails, tenderly

my keys clang and jingle like a bag of loose change
when i walk the hallways,
strangely loud, especially when i sit in a
quiet chair in a quiet classroom filled with quiet people,
it's musical
when class is dismissed
i like to fall asleep in my car with the drivers seat fully reclined,
people walk past, i think they smile,
i would too

on sundays i'll be
blissful, laying on the carpet
singing the beatles

"when i think of love
as something new," laugh as i
cross the universe

half way through my run i forgot how to breathe
i also forgot how to forget,
about you
its been beading-
across my body's threshold, drenching
morning with whirls of
c a r d i o
spasms and poetic flux-
inhaling something new,
while exhaling
*the particles of memory