At first it was bare and ripe for the picking -
my chest was pulsating under your weight you
stripped my heart like an exotic dancer would:
all eyes and no hands.

After the initial grasp, the puff puff pass and the
smiles exchanged between our legsarmslimbs and the
time it took to be rid of the excess skin crowding us in,
we breathed in sweet, sweet fumes of spring and said
things kept in our mouths, light like ecstasy but
heavier than the average promise.

But the hours it took to argue the hunger away made our
heads ache and eventually our jaws could clench no longer,
our eyes could see no more of each other - just smoke and
******* clouding our way - it was lost,
whatever it was, it

was lost.

I saw a leaf falling
from it's tree so I ran
to catch it.

But in my haste,
I ran
past it.

I can hear my voice:
it crackles like
burning
paper.

They could smell our smoke, I'm sure,
when we would pass by passively
                    - existing and wishing wanting.

Forgetting each word stumbling from our lips, tumbling
to their deaths on the hard, warm concrete.

The golden whispers we kept to ourselves,
which made them all the more profound
and we were proud to call ourselves
what we were then  
               - what we are still.

Can you be anything but reckless and cowardly in your own way?
We were children out every night that we were sleeping together,
sitting together around fires, making stars and
laughing drunkenly on a cloud above everything.

They could see our glazed eyes for what they were, too,
for what they were
            - dreams.

My jaw hurts because it might as well be wired shut. I have nothing
to say for myself, no, nothing to say.

And my thoughts tend to come in tiny red boxes,
when they open all I can see is a wisp of smoke
like a lightning bolt it's gone and in the air again.

I busy myself by keeping my teeth clean, menial things like
licking stamps and sending 'thank yous' and resting too much but
not sleeping enough.

I don't think about things too often, I try to get lost, more often than not,
I try to get lost.

like  
      want                   
                       feel  
        just things  

the time
      make              eyes  
little              girl  
      ­                              way  
         talk  

love
  
                               she

             he

having your heart
in my fist - I wasn't expecting
the hum coming from that little
drum