Love is found not
in fixation
obsession and attraction to
the point of abstraction.
Love does not demand
sacrifice of soul and will,
sitting still, sifting
through emotional ruminants.
Love does not need me.

Love is what I need to be.

(S)he finds me trapped
strength sapped
and gives me heart to heart
resuscitation.
This is love.
I am free to die and weep
and hate and wallow;
love is unfettered by languish,
not lackluster if let to age.
In time, we find, we see the truth
of love's supposed strength in youth,
and instead see
antiquity
grows vines around our walls, and through
windows and doors, inside and out.
Now, when we crumble into dust,
our framework cracks like cheap glass,
we find this love, slow and insidious,
to be the only thing holding us aloft.
*This is your heart becoming mine.

I can’t find the right words
I apologize in advance

you sleep with one hand pressed to your cheek
I know this because the other arm is coiled
around my body.
just knowing you are not even centimeters away from me
is the very definition of safety.

I can’t find the right words
to sum up how much you mean to me.
it’s more than just words -
strung together little sentences
but rolling over in the middle of the night,
and hearing you call me “baby” in midst of your dreams
is something I’ve never had
but I think it’s called perfection

At a quarter past eleven AM Charles took the stairs down to the lobby. Spare, yet stridently attired, he moved with the august vigor of a man only a third of his sixty-two years. Smart shoes, brimming smile and shoulders laden in the heavy weave of his sharp overcoat, Charles exchanged a quick wink with the precisely groomed lobby girl.

"Always a pleasure." He quipped.

"Always." She replied.

Drawing a deep breath of the frigid air, Charles paused as he pressed his shining wingtips into the undisturbed palate of that previous night's latest snowfall. Looking around excitedly, admiring the deep shimmer of that brisk morning:

Charles was struck down immediately by a large volume public transport–moving at an unusually high velocity.

"SISTER, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.

"Do you want a battered hide,
Or scratches to your face applied?"
Thus his sister calm replied.

"Sister, do not raise my wrath.
I'd make you into mutton broth
As easily as **** a moth"

The sister raised her beaming eye
And looked on him indignantly
And sternly answered, "Only try!"

Off to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To me as quickly as you can."

And wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The reason, Cook, is plain to view.
I wish to make an Irish stew."

"What meat is in that stew to go?"
"My sister'll be the contents!"
"Oh"
"You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?"
"No!"

Moral: Never stew your sister.

Earths anxiety; she feels too crowded her heart beat racing; volcanos erupt and the ground shakes. She's just trying to get rid of all the waste

Her hands shaking like the bedpost,
Springs are sprung in a similar way to how I am for her,
Bending over effortlessly to feel the sway of her remarks.
If only her remarks were as sweet as her accent,
(If only she had an accent.)
Brave wake-up calls furthering our existence.
Memories lost at the bottom of half empty bottles & at the top of the ping-pong ball's curve.
The sky has been dark for a few hours & the back seat is really the only place we have ever found coherence at.
Tears. Lots of tears.
"Forget about them, take a little chance with me."
The friction,
the faulty red cups,
the unforgettable music,
the fair use of things that are older than our grandparents,
the flavor of her lips, (which makes me think of home, which makes me remember what shattered glass looks like on a kitchen floor & helps me remember what hands that would grab my arm too hard felt like) nostalgia in a pair of lips,
the fruit we were all too eager to try,
the fall of our bodies & the rise of our voices,
the few times we actually would like to remember,
the famous upside-down sip,
& the four words that I could never say in her presence again:
•Light
•Deer
•Exhibit
•Hello
"Promise me you won't forget me."
Misunderstanding her voice never helped me until now.
We're very tired.
We're very sleepy.
But yet our lips aren't.
They seem to forget their purpose once they have a taste of sin.
"Please don't tell anyone I did that."
We're too young for this & I think that's why we do it.
Purposely persuading your every step.
"Don't tell her I said that"
Home is now haze & books are now blur.
More tears.
"I'm not ashamed of you, I just like keeping everything a secret."
We're too old for mistakes & I think that's why we choose to make them.
Calm nerves make her nervous & so do unsteady pens.
"Please don't be mad at me."
We're too smart to be stuck on the same chapter & I think that's why we close the book instead of continuing to read on.

We're all just accidentally sinking to the bottom of the ocean.