I want you to be my lover,

the crumple of your lips.

I want to be your saviour,

pressing up into your hips.

But for now you are the space

on the wrong side of the bed.

For now you are galaxies away

from where I lay down my head.

I don't like the fit of my pants, I think. She is wearing a black dress. Probable that it is her favorite. She often mentions her closet, her designer clothes, but they go unnoticed. She owns many, but this particular dress she wears more frequently.
She is in a good mood.
Her life is falling apart.

Where to next, she thought.

What is this now, I think.

We are sitting at a restaurant downtown. I order my second beer. Our waitress leaves us to our thoughts. I sip my beer and wait for her to speak. She takes a sip of her water. I can see that she is tapped out.

Drained.

Purity is filtered.

I rest my hand on top of hers. She keeps her eyes on her glass. The past month she has not made eye contact when I touch her. She keeps her eyes closed when we have ***. It would be silly of her to close her eyes and picture me while we ****, but a man can dream, right? I remove my hand. I sip my beer and wait for her to speak. She takes a sip of her water.

"Are your eyes open when you **** him?" I ask.

She does not falter. She orders a gin and tonic. Our waitress leaves us to our thoughts.
I sip my beer and wait for her answer.

This poem is reserved
for the love of my life
Its lines are only
placeholders
templates
for what is to come

There is no meaning right now
so don't go and search for it
These are cold, emotionless words
ready to be replaced with fire
when the time is right

This stanza will be filled at a later date
This line will be about her laugh
This line will be about the look she gives me (you know the one)
This line will be about the spark in her eyes
This line...mmm...will be none of your **** business.
It's a private moment
It's between her and I
The one with the reservation
to my heart

One day this poem will mean something
One day these lines won't be empty
Someday

But not today

Today I find myself less of a writer
And more of a weatherman.

I’d like to talk to you about the settled snow
In my stepfather’s suburban garden,
That he worked so hard
And cracked his dried skin
To call it his own.

I’d like to tell you of the still air
Crisp with an early-January cold
And the sun that is daring to peek overhead
In the distance on a roof.

The only snowfall now is from the dendritic bark
Of the apple tree in the centre of the garden,
Melting just enough to slide from the branches
And the squirrels shovel snow
From their houses

When I was younger I believed
whole heartedly I was worthy and
deserving of love,
and these days I just seem to  
take what I can get.

I keep starting tiny fires
to keep me warm
if only momentarily,
they only leave me colder
when they burn out

sometimes when I'm lonely
I like to glamorize past
failed relationships and
imagine that
that they loved me better,
or I them.

One day, I asked a chef
how he made his food taste
so delicious

He said to me
"It's simple.  I carefully
mix spices with meats,
fruits, and vegetables,
then I combine them
in a particular order,
during which I apply
heat at certain times
and temperatures."

I was awestruck.

Then I asked a painter
how she created such
beautfiful images

She said to me
"It's simple.  I mix certain
colors together, then I place
those colors on specific spots
on the canvas in a particular
order using a various number
of stroke techniques."

I was amazed

Finally, I asked a writer
how he wrote such beautiful
and inspiring lines

He paused and looked far off
into the distance, contemplating
what wise advice to impart to me



Then he took a hit off his ****

"I dunno, I guess I just
write, like, how I feel
and stuff..."

"Totally", I replied, as I bit into a ham sandwich

You are still a good person when you wake up naked
next to a man you don't remember
you are still a good person when you have to find out his name
by digging through the mail sitting on his kitchen table.

You are a good person when you call your brother's girlfriend
that word that she often acts like.

You are a good person when you take free drinks from men at bars
without returning a favor.

You are still a good person when you choose to let go of your parent's religion.

Don't let the ghosts of guilt dance outside of your windows,
like flames,
they will engulf you.

Don't pray for forgiveness,
forgive yourself.

Don't be cocky,
don't get walked upon,
you are worth not more than them, but you are worth just as much.

Cool it a little on the ***, Cheech and Chong,
it makes you inarticulate
and your dad will find your stash one day,
and flush it  all down the toilet.

Say thank you more often and be more sincere.
People will not always be kind,
know that it is special when they are.

Stay in one spot, even after you **** everything up,
let it breath, you'll see it's not so bad.
Know that the ugly sits in all of us regardless if we
stay long enough to let anyone else see it or not.

When counting friends, count them on one hand,
bigger numbers will never mean "less alone."
Choose quality over quantity every time.

Let people finish their sentences,
don't pretend to know what they are going to say;
You do not now, and will never... know it all.

When the first boy you love treats you like something that is
disposable or easily replaced,
don't cheat on him.
LEAVE, GO, Don't look back!
Relationships are not jail sentences,
you don't owe them time.
Besides, his forgiveness
will never mean you can forgive yourself.

When that one other boyfriend introduces
you to his friends as his roomatte,
don't later follow him to bed.
Demand that he treats you like you would like
your future daughter to be treated.
Because you are somebody's daughter,
and your mother, she loves you a **** of a lot!

Don't be afraid to run home when your heart hurts.
Your mother's house will be clean and
it will smell like fresh coffee early in the mornings.
Drink your coffee by the kitchen window
watch the sunlight saturate the fruit trees.
let your mother kiss your forehead, then say goodbye.
Remember, there was a reason you left.

One last thing…
When that one terrible thing happens
that you don't often talk about
Don't blame yourself for hiding, and crying.
Don't shake in crowded rooms,
don't need ***** to talk to strangers.
Please, don't question why it didn't mess her up
like it messed you up.
You saw her scars that could be easily seen
but you will never see the ones she hides beneath her skin.

I bet you want to know if things get better
Um, I'm not sure they do.
Things do get different
and somehow,
when you get to that point, different will be enough for you.

So I sit in the corner of the room
And I will myself to conjure something
An aura
A pulse
A telepathic beacon
Anything.

I can almost feel my bone marrow
Shudder and weep
Against this powder keg of neurosis.

I just want that eye contact from a stranger,
That speaks a language
Beyond that of the most effacious of tongues,
And stretches beyond time and space
To comfort me.

“I see you
And I understand
And I know you and I love you
Even though we have never met.
You are beautiful
And you shouldn’t worry so much.”

More than this;
I wish I had the power to do this for someone else.

He poured the coffee
Into the cup
He put the milk
Into the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
Into the coffee with milk
With a small spoon
He churned
He drank the coffee
And he put down the cup
Without any word to me
He emptied the coffee with milk
And he put down the cup
Without any word to me
He lighted
One cigarette
He made circles
With the smoke
He shook off the ash
Into the ashtray
Without any word to me
Without any look at me
He got up
He put on
A hat on his head
He put on
A raincoat
Because it was raining
And he left
Into the rain
Without any word to me
Without any look at me
And I buried
My face in my hands
And I cried