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Literature
If You Forgot Then,
when you first realize that it's your bath water
that has given you those fingertip wrinkles
so you press all ten (or at least eight or so)
to your happy cheeks,
and then you stream them along your forearm veins like maybe this feeling
will turn their blue to pink.
when you first realize that the ocean actually tastes of salt
and you find yourself wondering
if maybe you'd like this better than pool water if you could get used to it-
but then they're calling to you so you run to shore and no matter how many
times you've done this your towel is never quite warm enough.
every time i've ever been in the water is the same time.
it'
Literature
Mornings.
Mornings with you taste golden, like
that dawn we escaped together to
watch the sun rise from the asphalt
and burn its way down the road. And
we sat like sparrows above the dotted
yellow lines, waiting while the world
drove by and your face glowed hazel
and copper and hope. In the mornings,
when we share stories and wishes and
body heat, you feel more real to me
than anything I've ever read about,
than anything I've ever seen.
Mornings with you are hazy smiles and
soft eye lashes, like every morning I've
laid in your bed watching the dust ride
through the air on beams of light, not
having to do anything more than
Literature
The Dream of You
What do I do
when I no longer know
what you see when you look at me,
is there something lost
far away behind your eyes,
have I become miniscule?
Where do I go
when I can no longer
bear to write beautiful sonnets for you
because each thought of love
is born with a measure of pain?
What is there left
when I walk around the edge
and feel my balance start to waver
yet I do not know if I will fall into you
or on the other side of the abyss?
How can I live
when my world stops making sense
as I start to feel you crumble from
beneath my fingertips
this ground I walk becoming
so unsteady?
Is there enough
to hold this t
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