I dreamed my own death,
last night:

dug down deep through
dirges and dingy old dirt
my bed and my tomb are
one and the same.
like a blanket the dirt piles above
and like a mattress the
dirt layers below.
it gets so tiring,
sometimes;
sleep is a cousin to death.
there are loved ones
sobbing far away and
others laid around me,
lost and caught among
the endless eddies and streams
of neverending loneliness
that we all have felt,
some time.
it is a common experience,
a collective, conscious thought--
we float up and out of our bodies,
our gases and our atoms mixing with the
dirt,
the mud,
the worms and
the bodies
and the
ever-lost matter
of countless others come before
and countless more come
after.
we are all living in order to die as
after our death there will be nothing added
and nothing left;
the base materials,
the elements and bits of star stuff
have always been
and always will be
even when they are not
us.
really,
it is the
accepting of our own
demise--
our ashes to ashes and
the plastering of the
dustiest of dusts
that shall settle
and lay on thick
in layers and levels of
lost and loopy illuminations
of a mind that is filled with holes and rot.

but it is not your fault.
You are trying your hardest to
(re)capture my attention.

And despite my slight fascination with the
curve
of
your
mouth

I still find my mind wandering through
thoughts of the last person who sat across from me
trying to conjure up a smile,

and how quickly I walked away.

A silence with you
Is not
a silence

But a moment rich
with peace

If I wrote in rhyme,
with satisfying time,
would you like it?

Does it comfort you
seeing stanzas of two,

And is it pleasing
without any meaning?

Do you mind it?

And if I were to stumble
on my own words and
my thoughts crumble
beneath the structure

of beautiful nothingness
and regress

to complexity that resembles more
the disjointed thoughts of our souls
the pain and ugly in our hearts
the way we might actually speak (gasp!)
and think
and hope
and hurt
--is that not beautiful enough
for your poetic sensibilities?

If not, I understand
and will no longer clash
my words like waves that crash
on the unforgiving sand.

You may find much to see,
but this poem means nothing to me.

The cold distance between two hearts,
Once beating simultaneously, in unison -
A small disconnection,
A simple malfunction,
Unforeseen miscommunication amidst unvanquished certainty -
Muzzled, tightened grip,
Cloaking an angst shell of a body,
Harvesting repressed emotions,
Alluring a passive tongue -
Releasing an outpour of an outcry in an outburst,
Retribution -
Freedom released from with-in,
Healing of a contorted soul...
Commence.

I, with every ounce of who I am, need you...
               I need you to complete my sentence, my day and me -
     You are always following my thoughts,
                    Knocking on my every conceived notion to be let in -
                                                               ­                                                                 ­     Please, come in...
                 
I, fiercely want every morsel of you -
                       I want you beneath me, on top of me, in front of me,
But...        more than anything...                
                                         I want you beside me...
               Walking with me through this haze of a life together -
                                                          Figur­ing the world out as one,
                         Living a great adventure and setting the world ablaze...
                                                       ­                  All it will take is one word -
                                                               ­         

                                                               ­            Yes.