there is
slow breathing and sweaty skin
crumpled bed sheets clutched in tiny fists
and shadows, heavily strewn across the room
that slither closer and unite underneath her body
merge and stream upwards
to form rivulets that bind to her skin
so that she may wear darkness and feel darkness
among other things.

computer screen, computer screen,
please fill yourself with words
my brain is much too tired now
writing decent diction hurts.
computer screen, computer screen,
please let me see the light
my head cannot think of anything
but cliche phrasings this late at night.
computer screen, computer screen
I sort of wish I were dead
but perhaps I should log off Hello Poetry
and finish this so that I can go to bed.

If I could reach inside
and pull out a string of my own thoughts
for you to swallow and make yours,
I would.
If I could piece together a drill formidable enough
to shatter stone to dust,
I would.

Then, it would be different
than sitting still and letting the rain
thump rhythms against the rooftop;
even though sound cannot find a pathway
to squeeze in between the crevices,
somehow, a cloud manages to condense above me
and then, I am soaked in the sky's tears--
then it becomes impossible
to tell its rainfall from mine.

Here instead, I watch you feel around
the edges of my glass box,
searching for an entrance and finding none.
Here instead, nothing penetrates
but wind and clouds.

instead of walking, we will fly
instead of being grounded
we will search for a pathway to the stars
every step will bring us closer to the sun
every stroke of the arm will sever yet another string
that ties our bodies to dirt
all that we experience then on
will negate all that we have known
let the wind carry us;
leave those wisps of ourselves to trail behind

another night amongst the brightest stars
alift in navy sky
and she who owns the moon's white rays
takes too, with her, my love

another night beneath the clouds
in dance, in silken, fluid flight
bare feet collide on shadowed grass
warm arms embrace amidst cool air

to kiss in tree branches, far above
to touch the universe with extended wings
and hold this girl, who bears my love
in one last caress below the watching sky.

Far away, a bird sings
a song of spring's sweet arrival
High trills, low moans
Is it yearning for love,
or desperate for renewal?
Suddenly, his fingers find mine through
green blades and slide
over the back of my hand
A quiet breath escapes my lips
as we sit on dewy grass
But I do not feel moistness
only a warm kindling
in the pit
of my stomach
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
His amber eyes are glowing,
illuminated by the rays
of the afternoon sun
A cool wind brings the scent
of leaves
and all else that is spring
Brings his arms like a blanket
rubbing away goosebumps
spread on my skin
And somehow the sun
warms my spine enough
to seep in me
a morsel of courage
a slight turn of the face
a nervous murmur
And then I can taste
spring on his lips.

coarse words, angry sentences
disorganized letters, tangled strings
thoughts of hate and ugly things
formed in the back of my head
but too inappropriate to speak
instead became hostile phrases
muttered quietly under sour breath
jealously coloring these contents
a sour bile-green
and fear and sorrow
outlining the rough edges in black
so that my chest and all its corners
are filled with vileness, overlapped
like unwashed laundry piled
inside an unseen metal safe.