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it can feel
like breaking plates,
like screeching car tires;
the sound of shuffling metal chairs
against stone-colored
linoleum floors.
as though your breath,
can hang so heavily,
as it lingers,
and waits for a sign,
any sign,
that it can relax.
like footsteps that trail
behind you,
stomping loudly, and boldly,
and your eyes just
swim circles,
hoping for it to pass.
pressing your fingertips
into a delicate ocean,
as the temperature
trickles through your skin,
pace yourself.
like gazes locked shut
a vision of love with
such an unthinkable depth,
you’ve such gentle waters.
and when we have lost
our mouths,
with no words to be held,
it will mail all of my letters
to you.

i forgot how to write

i've burned a hole through myself;
like the sun, how it scalds
the fair skinned
at a quarter past three.
the way a cigarette releases
a translucent dance
of ghosts, of shapes,
until it has withered itself
away.
how my eyes can work their way
through walls,
and faces,
and no stare can appear as hollow
as i can.

avec l'amour

perfume breath,
breathe deep for me,
crushed velvet eyes,
you keep for me,
spider web words,
weave around me,
rise, and fall,
and breathe deep for me.

such heavy lids
like a fixed shutter speed
they lay low, stay low,
half mast, with love.
they glide so gently
like your body.
your silk wrapped bones,
draped over, and around my own.

with telescope limbs,
i extend for you,
i look for you,
in everything.
stone tablets
weigh down my chest,
engraved with the summer wind of letters,
of affection,
you string through cherry lips.

candour hands;
puzzle piece fingers,
magnetic palms,
i am yours,
breathe in for me.

shapeless love

i'm a fort made of sheets,
held in place with ivory shapes,
skin like milk,
silhouettes hang
thick as air,
thick as air.

i'm the stones in the sea,
i've sunken down,
and been retrieved,
into your palms,
i fit so sweet,
round me out,
round me out.

i'm a tree in the wind,
firm i stay,
but sway within
as heavy breaths
move me again,
hold me still,
hold me still.

i'm the body that you touch,
ridged and uneven,
as mountain tops,
smooth like satin,
please don't stop,
your fingertips,
your fingertips.

i'm the moon of every night,
i'll switch to sun,
and give you light,
i see darkness,
you keep me bright,
undying love,
undying love.

you are the picture on the wall,
stoic and framed,
you stand so tall,
you give me everything,
you let me have it all,
never strings,
never strings.

you are the love inside of me,
you'll always stay,
you're part of me,
you are all
i'll ever need,
my sweet,
my sweet.

swirling

i’ve seen a seasick face
that has crept up on me,
and kept me pushed down
how air shouldn’t be.

creases take their places,
on a porcelain floor,
as they turn the faucet on,
to release me some more.

i’ve seen a love so gentle,
that washes over me,
like silk stained breath,
and the gaze that i need.

fingertips take their places,
poised on marbled skin,
and every movement raises mountains
for the only one i want to let in.

old cassettes are knotted like muscles,
dust ridden film, stained with spots,
even though they were broken,
that’s not everything they have got.

the face that smiles upon them,
and the voice that trickles past your ears,
were what you loved,
and will love,
and will love.

eyes as deep as sandbars,
always pull me in once again,
but i would hold my breath forever,
just to be asked to come in,

and every alphabet that my tongue,
has strung so eloquently,
will encircle my own mind,
until i’m heavy in arms made for me.

i love you with the second hand,
every second i tick too,
and every single moment i’m beating,
i swear i’m beating just for you.

baby

you leave me with an empty tongue,

with no spiralling words.

you leave me with an empty mind,

where no images flash like carousel spins,

and no thoughts play bumper cars,

inside of my head;

except for the delicate image,

of the most exceptional face

i have ever seen.

your voice it swivels,

as smooth as liquid,

so soft, like the wind.

and every vowel,

every ink spot,

every shape formed by

your mouth of roses,

sticks to me.

i cling to your speech,

like static electricity,

and the strongest of magnets.

the melody of your alphabet,

encircles me like garlands, and

can draw diamonds from my eyes.

it can pull my marionette arms,

around your shoulders,

to touch your milky skin.

it has me.

your bones stay so soundly,

so beautifully,

as you sit,

perched,

and perfect.

the architecture, so inviting,

so firm, and slim,

but with high ceilings,

just enough room for me.

when you move,

there is nothing else,

only the shape which i fit perfectly beside.

my glazed eyes,

so watered down with love,

trail upon each step,

each jump,

each blink.

an image full of admiration.

with every hand that you spread

to accommodate my fingers,

and every limb that you stretch,

upon my body,

and every heart that you give,

to the love that needs them,

you have me.

every gaze filled with such tender depth,

that you lay upon me,

and with every word that you whisper

onto an open record,

you have me.

i have entangled myself

around your statuette figure,

with my limbs, like vines,

that will never let you go.

i have a love so strong,

that not a word could afford it,

not a breath could support it.

but may such attempts brighten,

the bluest of eyes,

and widen the most hypnotic of smiles,

and carry the largest of hearts.

i will keep you close.

i love you.

lines

lines are the house you built,
the window panes,
the door that everybody leaves through,
but do not always return through.
lines are your sides,
with the body that you hate.
and every morning you step upon a shape
to watch a line tell you
how imperfect you are.
streams that trickle from rainbowed eyes
always make such perfect lines.
such beautiful, shiny lines,
over things that are not beautiful.
lines align,
with the person that you love,
like interlocked science projects,
antique vines,
antique viens.
a line holds you up,
even though you cannot count on one hand,
the number of times
it's allowed you to lay down
and give up
and let go.
a line made of bones,
ivory lego blocks
that build you up,
like you've been pieced together.
like a puzzle.
like a scrapbook.
lines are fragments of words and letters,
written in notes,
in sepia cursive,
or stony print.
lines that curve, or cower,
to create something more fragrant
and desirable,
than they could ever be existing alone.
lines are train tracks that take you,
to find yourself,
or the one person you live for.
lines are what stab through your skin,
when you see something you hate.
so red, like rubies,
and cherries,
and fresh summer lips.
lines trace our bodies,
when i lay beside you,
and feel you beside me.
and when we move,
ours will still exist,
shadows of us that could never be erased.
a never ending line.