Looking down on clouds above
The atmosphere,
I let my eyes close and
Hear you whisper to me
From a dream of a night we spent
Kissing and passed loving and
Holding tight.
I told you
I was yours to keep
And you said you'd hold on to me.

Now I glance up: in the aisle
Waiting eyes for watered down
Coffee and a pleasant smile;
I oblige.

           Out the window

Pillow clouds, cotton white
And blue below my eyes,
Below my thoughts of you
Soft by deception, not the truth.
Though part of me would like to be fooled.

I've seen so much extravagance thus far,
The extraordinary paintings and frescoes
start to blur.

But in this place, I like the feeling
more so than the bible stories
outlined
on the carefully arched ceiling

It's calm with cooled air,
Giving me sanctuary
From all my headaches.

I could fall asleep now
and not care that I never woke.

This is not a religious conversion,
This is a feeling
Caused by centuries of humans being comforted.

We are history.
      from the heavenly king,
      to the useless trash.

Everything with a past.
      from sights and smells,
      to their stone built hells

We are the future
      Instantaneous revolutions,
      with no clear path.

Beauty in the uncertainty,
  cosmos out of chaos

We are facts,
      for the future.
      images to be recalled
      numerous as the leaves of grass.

Symbolic memories
      future generalizations

Lost in the overflow…

Bound to be swallowed
      by the desert of history
      within every grain a memory

    sand has a past
depends if the sieve catches

Do you see me as I see?
Delusions and semi-conscious conclusions,
scattered thoughts and confusion.
Or do you see what's more than me?
Joy overflowing from the holes in my skin,
a lack of notable sin.

I do not want to burn that candle you gave me.

I'm afraid of forgetting
how Tuesdays smell,
or how it feels to fail at
all the things that don't matter,
and to let them go.

I'm afraid I might forget your smile,
your eyes in the sun,
the scent! the scent of lemon and leaves.

And memories linger like smoke
in my eyes but there is no one
else, no one else but you.

And I love you.

I am bad at keeping promises,
but I think I'll say this:
I'm afraid of burning that candle
because I'm afraid of burning you.

You are alone.

I can see you now,
in my ever-omniscient
mind's eye.

You are alone, and
you are unhappy about it.
You are sitting upon the floor
wringing your hands,
wishing that days did not exist
and nights were not
so dark.
You are thinking
of how cold the air is
and how silent the house is.

Yes, you are
exactly as I want you.
I laugh, triumphantly,
bitterly,
miles away with
my eyes closed
to the nighttime and to
reality.

I think that there is nothing
as beautiful
as a freshly polished casket,
and delicately placed hands,
on utterly still hearts.
Accompanied by
shaky breaths,
and shuffling feet,
and wet air.
All in the name
of fabricated
pain.