remember?

you left a mark, blood, scars, a touch
all over just every where

i grew older and younger carrying holding these things you had me hold and i drank them all in and they were a part of me, me

your photographs are so pretty so very truly lovely and the black and white
the black and white always did **** me i loved the nostalgia you see because nothing makes me cry

like that citrus sharp twinge of the old, the fading, the forever gone and lingering inside, outside infused in the rain pouring itself inside me. the decades haunt me, will always haunt me, travelling like happiness inside a musty ruin

the hollow needles of desire they pierce the sunshine mundanity of my everyday, everyday has these little holes now and they look like you and anything

anything that looks like you is just too much too very much it makes the sunshine melt into clouds and burn brighter. at the same time

at the same time is what confounds compels rivets and other lovely words me. how?

How can this be joy, joy so overwheleming while it leaves me ravenous and aching so deep i can taste the shadows of your soul in mine

i remember

i remember too much and too little and these absurd oxymorons can be the title of everything of me of you and that space between, the space was magic when i was a wind breadth away from your finger tips; the space a gaping hole now so black that i'd need another language, an epithet to make it real

rainbows and butterflies and sexhappy peanut butter.

remember?

you left a mark, blood, scars, a touch
all over just every where

i grew older and younger carrying holding these things you had me hold and i drank them all in and they were a part of me, me

your photographs are so pretty so very truly lovely and the black and white
the black and white always did **** me i loved the nostalgia you see because nothing makes me cry

like that citrus sharp twinge of the old, the fading, the forever gone and lingering inside, outside infused in the rain pouring itself inside me. the decades haunt me, will always haunt me, travelling like happiness inside a musty ruin

the hollow needles of desire they pierce the sunshine mundanity of my everyday, everyday has these little holes now and they look like you and anything

anything that looks like you is just too much too very much it makes the sunshine melt into clouds and burn brighter. at the same time

at the same time is what confounds compels rivets and other lovely words me. how?

How can this be joy, joy so overwheleming while it leaves me ravenous and aching so deep i can taste the shadows of your soul in mine

i remember

i remember too much and too little and these absurd oxymorons can be the title of everything of me of you and that space between, the space was magic when i was a wind breadth away from your finger tips; the space a gaping hole now so black that i'd need another language, an epithet to make it real

rainbows and butterflies and sexhappy peanut butter.

remember?

you left a mark, blood, scars, a touch
all over just every where

i grew older and younger carrying holding these things you had me hold and i drank them all in and they were a part of me, me

your photographs are so pretty so very truly lovely and the black and white
the black and white always did **** me i loved the nostalgia you see because nothing makes me cry

like that citrus sharp twinge of the old, the fading, the forever gone and lingering inside, outside infused in the rain pouring itself inside me. the decades haunt me, will always haunt me, travelling like happiness inside a musty ruin

the hollow needles of desire they pierce the sunshine mundanity of my everyday, everyday has these little holes now and they look like you and anything

anything that looks like you is just too much too very much it makes the sunshine melt into clouds and burn brighter. at the same time

at the same time is what confounds compels rivets and other lovely words me. how?

How can this be joy, joy so overwheleming while it leaves me ravenous and aching so deep i can taste the shadows of your soul in mine

i remember

i remember too much and too little and these absurd oxymorons can be the title of everything of me of you and that space between, the space was magic when i was a wind breadth away from your finger tips; the space a gaping hole now so black that i'd need another language, an epithet to make it real

rainbows and butterflies and sexhappy peanut butter.

I think of love as a small home
With furniture well-used
And the clutter of life
And the smell of fresh food.

I think of love as a silouhette
In the dark of night
And whispered words
That ring true in daylight.

I think of love as long silences
Broken by the turn of a page
And loud, simple contact
And losing track of hours and days.


I think of love as a furrowed brow
As an angry shout and a sharp word
And a fist strinking out
And hurt, hurt, hurt.

I think of love as broken promises
And vitriolic, secret thoughts
And discontent never to be voiced
And doors that never unlock.

I think of love as a gilded cage
And a small bird that will never get away.
I think of love as predators and prey
I think of love as vulnerability.


I think of love as a downturned head
And silent submission
And an authoratative stance
And the will to listen.

I think of love as the catalysm's calm
As a word in a hurricane
That stops a million, million thoughts
And halts a crashing train.

I think of love as a private comfort
And rare affection
And overwheleming pride
And jealous admiration.


I think of love.