I wish I knew what love the scent of love smells like
I wish I knew how death feels
I wish I knew what terror tastes like
I wish I knew what crazy looked like

I do have theories though

I bet love smells like you

I bet death feels like a mix between sleeping and those times when you are just existing when you should be living

I bet terror tastes like you swallowed a bolt of lightning

And I bet crazy looks like me.

I have touched his every circle, line, and rectangle
I have kissed every messy hair tangle
I have caressed every piece of flesh hidden
I have pressed my lips against his forbidden

I have succumbed to his open mouth kisses
I have submitted when his smug smile misses
I have stroked his throbbing member
I have promised him my month of December

I have gazed at a god in my eyes
I have seen past his everyday lies
I have loved his ****** up chest
I have seen him at his best

I have seen him at his worst
I have also been the one to love him first
I have watched him drink to leave from me
I have finally set his cold heart free

and maybe I just
get attached too easily
and maybe I just
get my hopes up too fast
but I cannot fight this feeling
in the pit of my stomach
that every single atom
of my existence wants to be with you every minute of everyday.
so no,
I cannot help but get my hopes up.
no, I cannot help
getting attached to you.  
because you taught me
I shouldn't turn others into my lungs and rely on them for every breath.
but I should allow things
like sunsets
and the ocean shore
and the way the stars look at 3 am take my breath away.
(sjb)

There's a gaping hole inside my chest,
Below my neck and above my breast.
For your cheek and chin, that line was drawn,
A place to rest from dusk till dawn.

Hope.
Hope is like the air inside a balloon;
You only lose it
when you chose to let go.

"Do you...?"
The elder asked in late September,
It wasn't difficult, I knew the answer,
But still I paused, briefly undisturbed
And every detail, I suddenly remembered:

Glancing look
Batting eye
Short of breath
Long sigh.

Chest pocket
Slightly pounds,
Deep breath...
"Nice to meet you"

Charming smile,
Class Monday,
First touch,
Dinner Friday?  

Silent pause,
Checks calender
"That'll work!"
Phone number.

Sweating palms
Nerves swell
Deep breath...
Doorbell.

Dad's request,
Home at eight,
"Movie premier?"
Second date.

Hand in mine,
Afraid to miss,
Eyes close,
First kiss.

Throat tightens
Tears form
First fight
Cheeks warm.

Things I said,
Were never true,
You see... Because..
Well... "I love you."

Bended knee
Golden band
White box
Take my hand?

Five maids
Five men
White dress
Violin.

Chest pocket,
Slightly pounds.
Sweating palms,
Nerves swell.
Throat tightens,
Tears form;
"Do you..?"

The elder asked in late September,
It wasn't difficult, I knew the answer.

Rip open my skin
Grasp my heart in your rough hands
Steal breath from my lungs

To his Best Friend

You can tell him how incredibly annoying
it is that he makes love with his socks on,
and you can tell him that no matter
how many country songs he plays
the jeep will still be broken and the sun
will still go down at five o’clock
despite the garage lights and the cans of Miller.

Tell him I really didn’t notice him when he walked in,
and tell him that maybe I’ll be over to the party Saturday,
or that he walks pigeon-toed and that’s why
he ***** at walking on the curbs.

You can tell him anything you want to, just
don’t tell him that I love the way he holds a spoon
like a shovel or how his hair sticks up in the front
outside his hood in the mornings, or that his pants
don’t fit his waist that dips in from his belly,
soft, skin warm from my body lying on top of his,
and don’t tell him

that the more backwards we bend the more forwards
I fall. Don’t tell him that sometimes I make the bed
just so I can stay longer, please,
don’t tell him that the way he looks in a towel
with water dripping from his bottom lip
makes me want to crawl back into bed, rattle
his bones, and **** the kisses with my teeth
as I dig myself deeper into this infrastructure,
this balance, between hating what I’ve done,
and loving someone
who’s never going to think you’re enough.

Don’t tell him that I’ve strung together our moments
like a necklace and that I wear that burden
on my chest, hoping, between prayers
that I find a way to breathe. Don’t tell him
that I’ve broken over him. Don’t tell him

that sometimes my double-takes are triple
and sometimes I cry in the bathroom
and sometimes—
just please (save me*) please don’t tell him.