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And then I noticed that all I wanted to do
Was decorate your skin with my lips
while you rambled on about Baroque Art
I came here to focus
To collect all the piece of myself that scattered around
the world
from the time I had the biggest piece of me yet
to be yanked out
I didn’t want this
I forced myself to not want it
But that became impossible when I found so many
Pieces of myself inside you
It was like sailing all the oceans with only
The stars as navigation
It wasn’t hard but rather tricky to understand
Understand all your layers of black
And intricately woven sweaters
I imagined you plastering yourself
On the floor of your one room apartment
While the moonlight poured on your skin
And I could see every speck and pore
And everything would be so defined
You’re not a mystery but instead a character
That carried the plot of a beautiful story on your lips
While mine had nothing to do with the after thoughts
Of *** or kissing or walks along a dramatic skyline
But a poem about how much I want your story to
Mix with my
This is it
it's fall now --
but you probably call it autumn.
you've always loved that name.

you say it springs something in your mind,
something new, something wonderful.

you wanted a daughter with hazel eyes
to match the leaves
and a beautiful, bright smile,
the kind that melts ice
when it's zero degrees outside.

and you would never call her anything
not associated
with this season,
which i thought was funny,
because i've always loved the nickname
"pumpkin".

but none of that matters anymore,
because you're into winter now.

you like the cold,
and the wintry frost that blankets our town.

all your views have changed,
and you want to name our daughter death,
because now, that's all you ever
think about.
when it's raining in your heart
i will put my umbrella over it.
when your coffee is bitter,
i will be the sugar.
when your heart is breaking
i'll buy a hundred band-aids.
when you're feeling small,
i'll tell you that you're brave.
when you're feeling tired,
i will let my shoulders be your pillow.
wherever you are,
there i'll be.
whatever you need,
here is me.
Written for my mother.
If only
My only
You look like all the pictures
Neck goes slack
Eyes all glass
Thinkin how I would touch ya
The scene, the dream
The destination screams
"What a perfect chance"
Someday soon I'll have you close
But for now I'll break the trance
His name purred on her lips; 
She loved the way it
Rolled around on her tongue,
Loosened her vocal chords 

Every time she said 
his name aloud,
It felt as though she were 
Becoming more and more
Well versed in him; 
His character,
His very being
he asks me,
you're a
*******
Gemini
aren't you?
That explains
why you're so
******* crazy.
You're like two
people.
Get a grip."
Laughing,
I asked him,
"Of what?"

I breathe in,
I breathe out,

sunlight comes in through the window and graces this
single particle of dust when it twirls the universe around;
like us when we dance

- it all comes into focus

I create poetry
by the car crashed juxtaposition
of thought and language.

I create poetry via metaphor,
metonymy, a slight wit.

I create poetry by the
beating and bastardization
of word until the line
breaks just right.
It never truly does.

You create poetry
in your every movement.

You create poetry in the
interaction and absolution
you carry within every waking
moment.

You create poetry only
by opening your beautiful
eyes each morning as
the sun rises eagerly
to see you.

You create poetry.

This, my pale
imitation.
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