i want to see all of you,
every inch. every
mountain, every forest,
every ocean, every river
and canyon. i want to know
every mark on the map,
and i want to fall in love
with all of it.
i want to see and know
this is where i belong.
that you are a part of me
as much as i am a part of you.
you make me feel
something scary and
yet so comforting,
consuming. you are
a contradiction,
a recipe for disaster,
and yet i love you.
perhaps instinct
trumps common sense
in matters of the
heart.
perhaps my fear of
intimacy
will melt under your lips
and i will let you run them all over me.
your breath, warm
milk and roses.
your arm, a barrier
for intruders-separating
us from the world.
i don’t know
the time or where
i am or what i was
supposed to be doing;
i only know
your heartbeat, the heat of
your lips, warm
milk and roses.
WEARY TRAVELER FINDS REST
WITHIN THE HEART OF A CHILD:
we are
a miracle the world chortled
at thinking existed, a dream
within a dream.
too far beyond
the imagination, a
hallucination of the heavens.
there is love for you
oozing from betwixt these ribs;
heart so small, love so big.
there is something holy
in the lines by
your eyes.
heaven exists in between
your front teeth and the way
your lips become
mine.
there is no room for
perfection
while the sun still shines
and the moon glows–
we remain within
light;
the devil does
not exist here.
take a spoon
to my chest and gather
the seeds;
make a bed
for your sorrows.
i will help you grow
from them,
i promise. i will help you
turn them into flowers.
take these torn
up, gouged
out heart parts.
every cavity of
my being is for you.
you say the whole
world looks a little
crooked.
my head is on
the wooden floor,
staring at the bowed leg of
a chair, and i guess
it is a little
twisted.i had a dream last night.
we were all vampires, living
in my apartment back at
school. when i woke up
everything was the same except
mom and dad didn’t want to
suck my blood.i guess the earth is a little
bit crooked, tilting
at twenty three point five
degrees on its axis.i’ve been dreaming about
death a lot recently. it’s funny
because when i’m asleep i am always
the one being killed, but
i know that what
we’re trying
to kill does not have its own heartbeat,
but rather has taken
over yours.sissy said something
the other day that made me want to cry:
that the life has drained from your
eyes. sometimes
it’s hard to look at the beautiful gold
they have become.
i hate that color.
i know what it means.i guess you’re
right.
the world is pretty warped.
i think you can see it better than i.
is it scary? is the world
a little straighter when
your eyes are golden
like that? does it look
a little brighter?
i want
my fingers to tell
the story of how the
freckles on your collarbones
burst into stars under
my lips. you are an
entire galaxy beneath me
and i have
fallen hopelessly into you.
i am not quite sure
i could find my way
out if i wanted to.
i’ve memorized the words
to every line
on your face.
i know the notes that play
in the background
of your mind.
i know by heart the rhythm
of your heartbeat.
i know every single part of the song
you’re living, and
i love it.
Silenticel 