overstepping boundaries and
drinking caffeine,
pretending not to fade
away and slip into something a little more comfortable,
like the vapor escaping from my mouth as it hides
amongst the steam rising from the kitchens
and blends with the blue and my eyes
watch with wishes and wants

a smoke break well appreciated,
but I leave all the more
weary

coming upon this photo of us I hadn't seen
(pre-mortem, my blind happiness)
my breathing stops, my uncle in the other room stops yelling about the VCR
appropriately. I can hear him bounding down the steps,
leaving the upstairs for me alone, a place to sit and stare at this.

I am standing behind Spencer and you are beside me
but you look more as if the slushie in your hand could bring you more excitement.
you look blank and I look blind and everyone else is background to
my realization and your arrogance in everything from your
dead-pan eyes to your arm lingering at your side, not holding
mine.

I can see the tops of your stupid shoes that I told you to throw out
and I would pay for another pair. I can see all of the things I ate that day
heaved into a toilet later that night and you
were gone by the 18th of October.

It's funny how I can tell we are not puzzle pieces and we do not fit.
Sure there are crooks and crannies where an elbow can rest
and a head may lay but

most of the time arms will fit around you only

if you want
them
to.

You're so special, boy.
Confident with words and smart
with accents of verse and your art,
your poems, opinions
overall pinache.
Greeting with an always-outstretched hand
and may I add?
You're thoughtful and mind-full
and beautiful.

If I could be so bold,
I'd ask if I could borrow your brain,
I'd give it back,
but in return I have only one offer.

If ever again you need help
to figure out why you're so dear to me,

you could borrow mine.

I have seen boys with heavy eyelids
and hair on their toes,
heavy promises and haunting pasts,
loaded guns and a feel for the
supernatural.

I have seen
enough of

them.

your face is framed by the
streetlight streaming in the chill of
the night air and
your hands are warm against
my body, wide, my tummy grumbles,
not a hungry grumble but more
the grumble of an old man, frustrated
by age and worn by his days.

"Nothing could make this moment better."
a gentle nod as I twist away from you,
and twirling in the cold is freezing
my veins and you
pull me close
again.

we can smoke all we want,
drink all we want
curse all we want and
still,

everything else is extra.
excess and nonsense.

my playful words and your
roots in protest,
the way your coarse hair
leaves red blotches all
over my
skin.

run your fingers through my hair and still,
everything else is
extra.

(I have trouble
believing
you)

you say things so charming,
they practically
take my shirt off

for you.

I am slowly falling in love with
my stomach constantly hitching
and my nerves always bending in a way that
makes me itch
just to look at
you.