I've forgotten the panic  of
"Does he like me back?"

I wish i could bleed this
I cant make him real on paper
The way he stands
Or smiles
or speaks
Like the impossibly red necesity
Of the blood that flows through my veins
But shows blue through my skin
Not exact
But close
Like my facination with his hands
And that they make art
And that i just want to be close
But cant explain
How that feels
There are no words
In any language
There is only art for this
And that is still impossible to read.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

I wish I could draw hands
There's something remarkable about yours
When you are holding your camera
Or your coffee cup
Or when you lean
against the kitchen door frame
In dawn light
One handed grasp on the pullup bar
And the flow of your forearms
And the way your sleep heavy eyes
Reach mine

I look at you like a painting
I love but can never afford to touch
Walking to the gallery every day
Trying to memorize
The way the light bends around it
Wondering if i can talk the artist
Into giving it to a loving home
For the 50 bucks in my pocket.
I dont have much
...
But this broken mind
And that youve filled it.
Yesterday,
I bartended in the summer rain
And could only remember
that you said
You love to dance.
Nobody
Not even the rain
Compares to you

The pictures and texts
You send
Maybe im peering to deep.
Trying to learn your game.

Am I on your mind
As you go about your day.
Does your breath catch
when you think I may not stay.
Do you think of me at all
When you touch the camera
with steady hands
and wonder why they shake
when you reach toward me?

I like your ink on paper perminance
The hard line of intensity
In your hand writen notes
Around the house
Even the grocery lists
And the way your hands shook
When you zipped my dress
I take it you are not shaken often
And the way you hang out
around the kitchen
While i sit on the counter
And look at you
I watch your lips when you speak
Wondering if that passion exsists
In your kiss
And wondering how often
I can sit on your bed
Without you laying me down
I wonder if you can read my eyes
Like story books.
I wonder if you know
I wonder if you know
I see you too...
And the way you look at me.