Where Minds Meet

A smoky room with

Familiar warmth

In every glance.

Beautiful music pours

Casually from six guitars.

Songs so terribly unique,

That we'll forget soon.

Throats soar from an excess
Of smoke

And laughter.

This is home.

We spend all the last $20
For tremendous amounts

Of $2 beers
To warm up
Another Winter's night.

Everyone is a little bit

Hungry

But full of conversation

And open to

Thoughts

Worth

Every

Penny

That we can't claim.

Flames

It is the cool glide of ink
That leads her-

Hand goes heart-ward

Breeding, kneading

The toughness from its flesh:

The beat is back.

It is him, The Moon, cool pull

Dragging the blood through her veins.
The tide is crimson and
Thick, quick as sand

The sorrow has ebbed,

The storm has stilled.

The stars are ageless
In his eyes

The sky is blue curls around

His fingers

His voice flows in waves.

The room leans in.

His words gently bend us
Trees in wind,
Collide,
Fall.
The earth is softer now.

Losing Touch

Beneath the amber glow of stars

We breathe.

We are undying, in this moment

Our preservation sings itself on

The cool wisps of each exhale.

The wind hushes our secrets

As we sleep in a dust of cloud cover

And float on a sea of perfect

Memories.

I sink into the soft

Caramel of your eyes,

Enthralled and enamored

With the petals of your lips.

You trace yourself an outline

Between me and nighttime bliss,

You paper me with lace

And I smile with each shiver

Of feeling that no longer is.

She is languid,
her movements drowned beneath a tide of
what was.
With thoughts
scraping
itching
in reluctant skull.
They force her head around,
with a dull pop of bone,
until all she sees is behind her
and her feet, clothed in tatters,
shove onward through sullen seas.

The moon is harvest,
round and golden.

Traveling the sky like a

tick-ing-clock.

It times you,
sweet silence,
by position of the stars
{those stars twinkling like your eyelights}

Waning moon, falling on the roses

sharp red beauty

like the dim light falls

on the-

"We all," your voice whispers
husks, bleeds
"hurt"

and the gold moon ticks its consent.

Steetlight Midnights

Midnight, tuneful wanderings

streetlit, moonlit sighs.

Her heart pitches gently

at the humor of his eyes.

He is inconceivable,

dizzying in his cologne.

His tiny twilit turnings

are burned within her soul.

The blizzard twists a white hair
Tightly against this finger of a town.
This is where the ice gathers:
Freezing down,
Knuckle by knuckle
Until coarse bone is smoothed with ice.
Winter is this sense of ivory,
Tickled place of clocks letting blackening keys travel its face.
Each passng flake is a page on which ink drops lay.

The streets are the staff,
Your body the key.
The notes, your songs
You say belong to me.

You rest yourself, cool, in my branches
And name me your Oak princess
You land each day with sickening thuds,
Washing my skin with your ebony suds.

You pour your tongue along me like ash
while I bleach the red of your sorrowing past.
You remove your skin to release inner white,
And I died as my leaves flew away with your night.

We were scrabbling hands and bracing fingers,
falling lids.
The air was thick and we were melding
into waves, encaved
with salt.
I broke water, upturned corners
and twitching teeth.
I wanted to gracefully stroke
my arms across oceaned throats.
I wanted to remove your scalloped shells from my side....
... But you wouldn't let me.
And the second you asked me to jump,
to let the ocean overtake and drown me,
the second you said you adored me...
...You lost me.

I am a crumbling, powdering disease.

I hallucinate the things you say

prancing demons, distorting my ageless glass.

I cover my face with a silk veil

creating with tight-shut eyes

because it's better if you don't look back.

They are pouring molten-

Plucking-

Tugging-

Shredding-

They whisper things, sticky caramel

honey sick-sweet with lies

and refactions

and warping.

My little box was always solid, in the end...

... Though, surprisingly brittle, don't you think?

We - You =...

bags under eyes, late night smiles
laughs and textile hearts transmitted bravely over vines
washed away
with unlimited words and dangling m
                                                                       e
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bittersweet, like retasted, reharnessed, reheated desserts

m&ms dropped in salt.

like paper, words written and erased so many times

it catches fire

small and lonely. An average, rusted tin can

erroding each day as it stands

untouched, unseen, uneffected.

like an old film strip. The picture interrupted

by white flecks of dusty ideas

angry technical issues.

It's beautiful like a rose,

that when bending with the wind

pricked itself and bleeds

It is stomped, drained, petted, and pruned

by itself and all around it.

If thoughts could speak, my dear, your's would say

"Like as friends"

I am ten point New Roman scribe

I am hushed whorls of smoke

ghosts of bittered wax

weeping, always weeping.

We are captives.

Held inside can shaped jellies

and dried meat husks.

We are whisked away,

only to be snatched brutally

by buttered golden fluffs of dough.

And you.
You are the worst of us all.

You are the bitter rhubarb scars,

clanging aftertastes of badly cooked crusts,

lying,

conning,

strawberries

wrapped in awkward layers and topped

with clouds

constantly luring me inward.

Pain

My cells are wilted petals

that drown in radiation.

I scale my pain from 1 to 10,

and curse my own creation.

These eyes you see

don't belong to me
owned by bloodshot demons
my cracking lips smile widely
despite the chemo haze.

I spend my dayscounting down the ways
that I am taken care of
and wish away the cascading pain
I see in all your faces.

Curious eyes in fading dreams,

I love the way you look at me

tumbling, trampling, stumbled lips

provide the sweetest, tasteless kiss.

Enchant me with your salted voice,

Lend me breath, your balanced noise.
Drown me in your angled huffs

give heartache till I've had enough.

I've been picking at loose skin again and I'm almost sick of it. Tired and ill with the gut wrenching feeling of frayed ends, unhealed layers.

I lose myself in wonderlands and lovely thoughts and wonder "Do you, like me, hold close Crystals?"

We are bending, rehearsing, reciting, and encoding. We tell our tales of Blackberrying and Cartoon Physics, readily sharing because any practice is worth that shaking, churning feeling of presenting yourself, bare, beneath spotlights.

All the while the date rolls in When Sagattarius eyes count by 20s and hum in handsome green (forest green, to match winter pines)

He is my best friend, as you know, and he can tell I dislike Alone. For Alone greets me with apathetic grace, and hangs pocket watches in my face.

When at last, I crumble into dusty shores, promise me this: That you'll weave me into daises and spin me into paper I'd love, for just one moment, to be Chopin's sheet or Plath's composition.

If I could flavor you I would call you ocean,
salted softly, in borrowed beauty
relfecting what I want to be.

If I could name you, you would be summer

cottonwood floods in cool straw laces.

If I could hold you, it would be like fireworks,
unrully,
beautious,
dangerful.

I must teach myself to let you go,

so up in the air you might explode

into all that you were meant to be

star flakes risen without me.

Bubble baths, deep water
drown me.
Your kisses spun, like cotton breezes
familiar smiles.
How sweet you smell, my dearest one
when, at last, the world's undone
breath once more again.