Hi.

[i like the way you face me when you talk to me]

So, um.*

[you even blink your eyes with just the right timing]

What’s your name?

[i’ll bet you have a good orthodontist cause i’d say your teeth are better than most]

That’s nice.

[you must have good hygiene or a good mother cause that shirt is starched]

Well,

[how do you hold yourself so confidently? did you take public speaking courses?]

Nice to

[i feel calmer in your presence than anyone else in the room]

*Meet you.

you monolith the shade of my footsteps
(let’s fluctuate our emotion
so that when
you ***** in puddles
you can feel my dry comforter skin
and I
will repeat your dimples
when I’ve misplaced my humor)

you makeshift my silly condolences
(let’s pretend
that all is everything alright
and when
the wiser awk
wardly
pass their sympathy
we can shrug jumpy
joy)

you harmonize my musings
(let’s crouch
flinging insouciant
postulations
without proper schooling
with bona fide
elation)

so that I may be your noone
when you are my anyone.

you catch me at my most divine moments
when I breathe the air of deity,
you are the oxygen

you red my blood with your fervor
and when I wander listless
you net my efforts

sometimes I ponder on your
boisterous hilarity,
your smile in the softest despondent instance.

but alas
there is not comprehension
that will paint the right
glimmer in your eyes.

I must content myself
with the elation
of being your confidant.

thus confide in me your most shattering joys,
and we will huddle upon the grandeurs
lost in the subtle gradations
for as long as we like

shall we sift through the faces
and find the red and crying
the blue and hopeless?

we shall.
and we will brush upon them
the most cheerful spectrums
with the same instruments
by which you saved my smile.

Hello Pigment.
I missed your squish-
your fingers staining my favorite picture books.

I need your oily claws
your head-mashing whiff
the way you smile with toothy indifference

you climb over
all walls I orchestrate
and sit turgid
with bright Grandiose on my blanched skin.

my life is your palette,
you have moved in like a sloppy roommate
and your haphazard possessions drape the cabinets,
the chair,
the sink.
I love it.

you inhabit every vacancy
-a bulky mass of
magical “art”
and
no matter how much I mix your
complementary colors,
you appear
ever so bright.  

please… don’t leave me open canvased.  
splotch to me left and right
taint any negative space
barge in without
pusillanimous footsteps.
whip your camel hair bristles
all over my pages.
color me, pigment!
                  
             Splatter, Paint.

YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I tiptoed inside your eyes and found
a simpler tune, a softer sound
a curve in your straight-backed regime
to hate the world, to dim your gleam
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I pickaxed deftly your hushed façade,
to break your cool, your soul to ****,
I was rewarded, you melted thick
I bit your nails down to the quick
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I chanted slyly my Godspeed rhyme,
(behind the veil of passing time)
your soul rose like a fish to fly
your mind ignored and passed it by
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I’ve pricked your thoughts sharp, now I’ll wait
(I can’t force you to take the bait)
your life will dance if you but heed
but I will melt if you’ve no need.

when I say
“stopthis, trythat”
I speak not from the rooftops
or the pulpit.

(I feel like a small
termite
that has gnawed through your
wooden visage and delved into
certified you-
I speak
from
the
inside
red layer of your giant
possibility)

The Master of your creation gave me
colored glasses
and through them I can see
[   you   ]
as you could become.
Potential.
(as You are truly)

I wish
I could tear your very trained
highly efficient
scowl
off your luminescent tie dye soul

and strike you thunderously
with coursing hope
that transcribes my spirit
onto the finest parchment paper
of time
and original Home

then instill the clearest oxygen
for your gasping
eyes

gift you with the smallest tokens
of supreme still

I am the dog scratching at the door.
it’s raining and I hate the cold
so as I whine and shuffle my feet
do me a favor:
Don’t shut me out.

you rise and fall like a symphony
(My silk screen diaphanous breeze)

I swim through your History,
(the coral reef of vivid crazy textured nonsense love)
saturated by the light refracted
into your marine metropolis

I coalesce into your voice
(melted butter creamed currant pastry)
and unfurl evenly.
(your solvent arms
propel my luck to fill every container
of your buoyant sounds)

you dance on my sidewalks like
Charlie Brown’s gang
(bobbing caricatured spreading smiley joke random)
you take my crinkling brow
and soften its creases
like newly pugged clay

Be my crutch,
my original thought,
my epiphany,
(reshaping nuance unforeseen renew reold aspiration),
my false laugh
(when I get hurt and love you too much to show it)
my recorded comfort
weaving precious merriment around my every gesture