Its night's encapture that provokes thoughts.

I'm not one of the lucky ones
who gets to fill the void
I just sit and let it sink deeper
Some days I don't even stand
cuz I can't stand you not holding my hand
all I've got is this pen
and these words I've written.
And you've got six hundred lives
you could live
and the only one I've got is just pretend
Because all I want
Is to lay asleep on your chest
And spend lazy afternoons scratching your back

It would feel right to be near you and hear the little drummings that carry life under your skin
I'd like to belong where they fit in
Will we ever be satisfied or is it too hard to believe that were blind?
I don't know where your mind turns in alleyways of abstract thought but I want to be there with you. Its all I've ever wanted, to understand the cadence of your skin

Everytime I hear that old song,
I picture the lyrics tattooed on your skin
And embedded all over
My every waking thought
Its like those calloused hands
Had more to say in the fleeting moments
That they held mine
Than I have ever heard in my life

I'm finding you in the snow again
and I can't seem
to stop
chewing on
my bottom lip

in worry
out of habit

I don't know anymore

Some slightly chapped "I love you"s
"I'm sorry"s, and "I need you"s
curl around my ugly Midwest winter;
drift in and out of the sleeves of my coat
and the skeletons of these poor trees
dust-colored oak leaves
shivering boxelder branches
("Acer negundo...")

I want to sleep, just like them
Breathe backwards
Keep still
Rooted firmly
Nice, calm, steady

But I can't

I'm still waiting
(somewhat impatiently)
To pluck your, "I'm here now, love."
Your, "It's okay."
Your, "Kiss me?"
Right from your mouth

Before you can even say it.

I awoke to nothing but white and
The sound of my mother calling my name
Smoke, I felt it in my lungs
It burned me as it came

I awoke to nothing but white and
The sound of the phoenix calling my name
A bird and my mother
Their call was the same

I awoke to nothing but white
Cleansed by fire
I arose from the flame

We spend so much time looking at faces,
Sparkling blue eyes like icicles
Dripping from rooftops,
Lips curved like crimson brushstrokes
Chins formed like the rugged edge of a cliff
But we don't talk about the quiet parts of ourselves,
The line that God drew down our backs
That separates the halves of our whispered dimesnsions,
Like how I want to stand beside him and let our arms brush sleeve against sleeve,
Maybe pinky against pinky
Because in this I feel wanted
And how you want to touch my arms
And my shoulders
And my neck
And all the space of my back
Because in my skin you feel wanted