|
teach me latin, so i can write dead words in a dead language and gift them to you in a skeleton leaf.

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count my freckles and divide them by your lips.

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write lists of places and plan trips and pack our things, but never go. instead, build tents in the livingroom and sleep there for a week.

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dance with me when the frogs and crickets strike up a concert, dance me straight to the edge of the river.

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polish stones in your pocket and hang them around my neck with a jute cord.

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write books with every word misspelled and give them to me with most solemnity, a crooked knee and a bent head. i'll decipher them and paint the phrases in the clouds.

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paint the grass white and roll down hills until we're coated and stiff.

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hang mirrors on every wall and leave notes with scribbled words about the groceries, ps you're wonderful.

i entangle myself in the sky,
grasp and tug on breezes,
expect grass to be as thoughtless
as my skin.



i am complete, here,
amongst the feelings of stones,
as april folds me,
intricate, in its madness.

you had birds in your mouth and sunlight dripping from your eyelashes.
i promised i wouldn't speak if you wouldn't change faces twice an hour.
we made conversation under a tree and sleep-walked through your kitchen.
i couldn't stare for your poetry disguised as fingers, always moved your hands.

i opened your window and slid to the street, took a walk with the recycling.
my hands looked tired the next morning, and you wouldn't take no.
when the lights fell asleep, we ran for the boats and slipped into the water.
the moon smiled and pulled us apart, i never matched your shoes again.

I fear the way you love me:
That tender-touching kiss
Seducing me to nightly
Sink deep in your abyss.

Those smooth caresses take me
To places that I dread,
Your cunning fingers rouse me
To plan such lies ahead.

But while we writhe and tumble
In lust's hypnotic hold,
I fear the final stumble
That will see the truth unfold.

Inspiration spirals away,
as the clock drones on.

If only the flickering
fluorescent light,
would ignite,
        something
                  anything
tangible.

Oh to feel fire,
caressing the soul.
Like the child,
who on a dare,
took to the clouds.
Then scrapped the skin
off his shin but won the glory.

Even captured with pen,
the fire wanes.
Smothered by the clock,
Never satisfied.