Clear off the bed
and come lie next to me
or lie with me
or crawl under these sheets
and die with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Clear out your mind
and sink down low with me
or get high with me
or hold my hand
and lose some time with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Clean up your act
and fall apart with me
or fall, apart from me
or fall, a part of me
and take some time to cry with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Clean out your car
and run away with me
or run to me
or put it in reverse
and go back to the start with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Cleanse your spirit
and embrace this pain with me
or brace for pain with me
or take a moment to put me back together
and just be with me, with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could still get used to this

Sometimes
I find myself
rewriting poems
Changing all the words
except for
your name

so shall these next eight lines
serve as certain and conclusive evidence
that poetry
(this kind of poetry)
is as elementary
as touching a key
that takes your illusory fountain pen
from one written line
to another

When you are not near me
  I question where you are.

        When your messages do not find me until late
                  where are they going?

                                   Do they find a home with someone else?
                                            Or do they stay safe with you?

                                                           ­            When you are not here
                                        staring at me with those golden caramel eyes


                                 I can't help but wonder
                               where else they might be.


                                              Do they stay on one path?
                      or do they wander the world
                                      hungry with curiosity?

"Love is in the air"

That's probably why I'm suffocating.