Call me by your name and I’ll call you an old lover because when I kiss you I’m always thinking that it’s the last time. I’m always thinking of how we’ll run into each other years from now and ask if any of this happened the way we remember and I’ll say I’m afraid so. I’m afraid so.

She was a thrifted sweater and denim and jersey knit sheets
Pizza breath and red wine and toothpaste
Alabaster skin and knotted hair and freckled shoulders
A tangible dream and my favorite good morning
She agreed to let me kiss her and I agreed to let her slip my shirt over my head before she became
Blood and tears
"I trusted you" and "I’m sorry"
Midnight poems and a drunk "I need you"
I’m afraid I loved you like the way I wrote

You are the abundance of stars only visible to the dreamer in the wake of night

The sun and its companions as they glow to shine a light on the surface of your skin

You are the mischief that forms the toothy grin on the face of a child’s curiosity

The everlasting glow on their faces as they question the world around them

And I am lost in translation, confused, amused and somewhat enchanted

To you I am the clouds that hide away your blue skies

But to me I am the ones that shield you from the glare of a jealous sun

And to each other we are foreign, bordered and misunderstood

Lost in translation I’m waiting for you to understand ,
That to you; you’re nothing, but to me; you’re my dreamland

i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it

embrace me

drizzle syrupy whispers in my ear
press powdered lips to the back of my neck

your candy shell around my creamy center,
our licorice legs twirl together,

drift to sleep on egyptian cotton candy


I can't sleep

but I'm not sugar high
when we kiss I taste aspartame

sweet, but artificial
still, so close to the real thing

or maybe I just can’t tell the difference?

If a tree falls in the woods with no one to hear it, does it still make a sound?

It’s not so much philosophy so much as it is physics but I won’t bore you with the science when I say:

Did you know when you heart trembles,
Cracks,
Fractures,
Breaks in two,
With no one to heal it or love,
It doesn’t make a sound?

Did you know that your sadness,
That so often goes unseen and unheard,
Becomes a poison to your very soul?

Did you know that this silence,
This ambivalence,
This distance between us,
Destroys me?

I think you do.

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."