The cracks in the ceiling
stared back at me,
as if even they had their
**** more straightened
out than I do.

He used her body like a map,
exploring each curve to its depths,
traveling to all the same places
he's always been.
Yet with eyes of a tourist,
he marveled at the view...
breathing her in like he'd
never make it there again.

I wonder how they stand
with their jellyfish spines,
or are they so stubborn
that all they feel is a backbone?

There's certain things that make me feel high
in the most natural of ways,
like the colors of the sunsets
and your smile on a bad day.

I walked along the cobblestone,
my feet light with each step.
It was an unfamiliar feeling,
a change of pace from the
heavy footsteps I once kept.
Oh, these foreign towns,
turning me into the weight of a feather,
having me practice my writing
in the form of a "miss you back home" letter.