From the moment the keys hit the table,
I knew I wanted to go back
And kiss you like I should have.

Your soft whispers
Give me shivers
Fingers quiver
On my cheek
Speaking softly
Breathing, wafting
Don't stop talking
Always speak

Kiss me softly
Kiss me long
Roughly, gently
Kiss me (til I'm) wrong

Tonight I lay in bed, with a few extra blankets,
To keep your spot warm for the next
Coming years.

I came to a fork in the road.
I stared at it for a long time.
It stared back, daunting.
Unmoving.
I picked it up and snapped it over my knee.

I decided to not decide.
I used the fork to eat my lunch.
Sitting there -
at a fork in the road.
I ate. And slept.
Refusal.

I refuse to cooperate.

I'm sorry, I'm not like
You all.
Not in the way that I'm special, or set apart,
Just different, for some reason
A difficult different.

I'm sorry my conversations
Are ****, and
I can't find the right things to say. I wish I
Could talk about Narnia, and give
Up space forever.

I'm sorry I haven't always
Been here,
One of your core memebers; I'm just
"More comfortable" on my own
On the benches.

I'm sorry I'm trying to steal her,
Your youngest love;
If I could give up these dreams of being
My own, our own, our own something
Great, I would.

I'm sorry I can't be banal, with a
Simple job in a simple town,
Content with what I know and doing just
Enough to get by on these broken
Parts of mine.

I'm sorry I can't love TV and video
Games the way you do,
To know them and talk about them as
Your friend is something I may
Never know.

I'm sorry I can't be a bonus son
Like the other.
But I love what I do, and though it may seem
Useless it's mine, and I'll do it for
Me, for her, for us.

I know none of you don't mean it, I know
Somehow it's in my head -- but
It's an uphill battle, and you're
Throwing boulders.

You are sunbeams cast long on a couch through
A window, whose mesh drags like fingers
On a fence through the sighs of the warm Spring
Air; Beautiful,
Comfortable, familiar,
Lovley.

"Magic is closer to science than religion;
science aims to conform nature to man, religion
aims to conform man to nature."*

Though I am no longer as mystified, this makes
Me no less a mystic. For I too pray,
Not through tears or knees
But numbers and telescopes.

You of much feeling need all your evidence --
Archaeology and historical account --
When I of such mind and curiosity
Need nothing more than the slightest feeling;

That feeling I crave beyond all else.