woke with hypothermic and shaky skin
a thought: we are made of street lamps
and damp grass feet dripping dew tonight

we live in the color blue under electric moon
and my skin and clothes will be lined up
on top of the dresser for you to sink your teeth in later

my hands are cold in their lipping grasps but your
hips are warm, and desert breathes dragonfly
and smells of chlorine, our legs kaleidoscope

in the pool's reflection.
i am still cold, i am still in spring breaks
broken and inviting your scent back in my life.

pool chairs.
eating emeralds
smoking insects
and becoming the locust
of the world.

party looking like bloodletting
indoor wallpaper rosyblurry violent cough
and vision up like a promised land
windy alcove and energized balcony chats

my fear of heights, lime nicotine
you'll save my anxiety taking me home
naked to the core underwear and bra
talking quietly as you drunk drive
lonely dragonfly intersection intertwined
fingers and again - those kingly emeralds

i've written sixty eight poems
on adderall in an hour and all of them
are living up and getting married
having kids and taking three week
vacations in the carribean
living fulfilled lives under no control

healthy, fruit dripping naturally
even when things go wrong
they sleep soundly.
i am distracted by how perfect they are
and admire them with jealousy
when i should be asleep

it's too boring to be simply up to no good
vanilla skin and ashen lips, shaking hands
sly, slender nostrils that started drip wine again
convinced she's not a person without him

when she laughs that cool laugh
these straight lines that keep her
coiled and uncoiling again
she smells like absolut and lust, cheap perfume

prophet tongue with
stabbing perceptions
i gave him my name
while in bed.

soft white curtains
though still chamber thick
cold steel hands
and the room sliced into pieces
by morning light
but haunted by night sounds
crept into open wounds of the heart

chills.

his hand
resting on my thigh while he snores
summer bruised and adventurous
though callous youth
with his unbandaged scabbed knee
skating last night.

moment forgotten in the carride
but a stone monument staring
at me on the kitchen counter.

letting loose old chains
you and your wry laughter
defeated by the day old machines
of life and their constant clogging

time's hands tear into spring
nail first, peeling off the light constricting canopy
twisting barbwire off delicate skin
strangling you on a couch from hell

wake up to the smell of bourbon
and dead roses - so pretty
your lashes creating the shadows
on your gaunt cheekbones, and your name is Soul