we think
it's easy
take a sip
of fire
inhale
and exhale
sweet smoke
that makes
our eyes sleepy

the cheap
alcohol
makes our eyes
fill
with tears
shake and tremble
when we've been laughing
all along

hold my hair up
while i throw
up
misguided
situations
unthought through
ideas
hold me
up
while a stumble against you
catch me
when i fall

and let a stranger's
fingers
move across
the stockings
on my legs
with a wink
don't think
she doesn't see
or feel
when her eyes are closed
and she pretends
to be asleep
with her eyes open
and a naive
smile
plastered
like the red lipstick
across her running
mouth

There were things in the summer
that reminded me of you
But it was mostly in the winter
that I missed you

if i don't change down
around
this corner

if i don't take my foot
off
the accelerator
and put it
on the brake

if i forget
to steer

.....

"hold up
some fingers.
any number."

i hold  up 3

and his heart breaks  

because
that's the number
of times
i ought to be in love
for

and he knows
he can't be
the third

only the fourth

she took a cloud
and flew up
into space

coming down with the rain
so alone
with the stars
and the moon
and the sun

the shadows
smiled at her tears
dripping
from the gray
and wiped them
away

with the dappled sunlight
coming from between the trees
initials
and hearts
carved onto their boughs
scarred
by a dozen
foiled notions of love

felled
to become the page
she screams onto
ink and words
her only sound

her eyes
are blurring
her words
heavy
with alcohol

"people are like drums;
the emptiest ones
make the most noise
while the ones
who are silent
are so filled with thoughts
that they have nothing
to say"

I fell in love with a man
Who told me a story
About a submarine
Under the sea

We were surrounded by books
And he swore that it was a  classic

I can't recall the title
I can't tell you his name
But I do recall
Drowning in his eyes
And I can tell you
That they were framed
By the most beautiful sounding words
That I have ever
Heard

an old man
with eyes
the colour of silver
told the boy
with lies
lacing his tongue
that it was
more difficult to apologize
when it was meant
than when it wan't
and that it was easier
to forgive
someone you cared little for
than someone
you loved

there was a storm
one day, in the middle of spring
it fell from the sky
to reach the warmth
beating
beneath him
like a race
against the sea

it fell pirouetting
in the wind
sent by the stars
to make themselves fall
shooting
for him to make a wish
to keep a secret
to come true

and they drove everyone
far and near
away from the sound
of a billion memories
locked in the glass
of the still sea

they fell across
the trees
that were bent from the weight of the words
waiting to be wept
by the sharpest sword
clutched in his aching
hands

his left hand
fingers entwined
around the hilt
trembled
poised
over a wanting page

waiting
as the rain fell
staining his skin
with the absence of the sun
the absence of the moon
the absence of his heart

had he wished
so long ago
for his heart to depart
he would still have his soul
to lose to the silence
beneath the waves
beneath the fingertips
grazing the silk of his lover

stopped
by her widest eyes
staring at the tattoo
on his skin
from the skies
stained
burnt
by a thousand falling stars
a thousand wishes
that were too cold
and too visible
to come true

i watch the colour
spill from your eyes

shaped
in the form
of shattered glass

i roll it
between
full pages
and press it to my lips

inhale
exhale

i wish i could
carry on being me
with so much you

you will never know
how close i came
to loving you again

It's not enough
Lying beneath you
Watching the clouds move
And the sun becoming conquered
By darkness

You demand the things
Stars being flung into the silky sky
I long to give
Beating in your fist
Beneath your roving hand
It's not enough

Being yours
With your hands brushing away the hem of my dress
Absent eyes begging for an absent soul
Whispers that are perfect lies
Warm murmurs against my neck
The rising sun
It's not enough

tell me again
how easy it is
to pretend to be
the sky
when the rain
keeps coming back
to me

i can't write about you
because i love you
too much

(maybe
this poem makes it
a lie.)

i want to burn
the pages
i wrote about you

the smoke
stinging
my eyes
would make me cry
in the same way

a writer
is a sum
of their experiences
and feelings

the man said

his eyes hidden
and burnt

by the sun

how can i write
if i feel

nothing?

press your fingers
to my eyes

i can't see anything
when i'm around you
anyway