From bed to couch,
with shoulders sharing a distant brush,
you light a cigarette between sharp teeth,
your back bent so the cherry illuminates my naked knee.

That small fire spark,
of blooming blushing color,
grants me more warmth,
than you are willing to donate and let me discover.

It's smoke fumes the voiceless room,
the ashes drift delicately to embrace the floor,
I watch with eyes of green and wobbling lips,
until you complete the parting ritual.

Once you're gone I sit for a while,
mulling and chewing on my gagging thoughts,
endlessly seeking an answer for just...
one dreading question.

Why does smoke and ashes,
always linger longer around me,
than your presence?

Somehow, words bleed into the night,
and your voice is on the other end of my ear.

I know, my form lacks beauty, and the way I confess lacks grace or dignity that comes with the frail women you like. I know my antics are somewhat crude, and I still am a mystery to myself.

But fulfillment is having your chest stuffed with the sky and a bed of flowers. It is having 2am filled with your laughter, and their laughter. It is forgetting all beauty, all grace, all that binds misconceptions in the world, and leaving only your heart, theirs, and the love that you give.

Funny stories fill the room, hearts quiver with the truth. And the next day that we meet, we play with our friends, you cover my eyes and laugh, and I try to pull your hand away. You tap your forehead against my shoulder, and miss the way my heart beats.

Your smile is beautiful, I think.

And though a small part of me still wants their love, they're still here. We don't say my affections out loud after that night, but they respect me, and I respect them.

And isn't the person I love so wonderful?

Gasping
In your shadow,
To you, I scribble
In this little book.

Of a hornet
Whose glass wings
were shattered
by your skin
Watch him squander
atop your ivory toes,
pleading
you might hear
the clattering
of his gaunt limbs
as they crumple
and snap.

Of a vacant egg
after half its body
was swept up
by the wind
now festering
in the dried remains
of its splattered pearl.
How many dusks
And dawns
did this fledgling
spend snuggled
in your skyward arms
to wind up
a meager stain
on your chin?

Of a wilting boy
calm in clay
shaken in spirit
who wasted
too many years
praying for
your stony eyes
to fall
as his have.
Suffocating, he offers
dying souls
a fool’s paradise
that you,
Sweet Basilica,
will part your leaden lips
and breath each
And every breath
you take.

Silly, I know,
but for him
he imagines
you will.

Won't you?

I let my eyes speak
I smiled and tilted my head
I captured you with my gaze
And invited you to dance

I let my feet stride
I found you when you hide
I walked beside you together
And brought us even closer

I let my hands charm
I protected you from harm
I embraced you when you're lonely
And held your hand in the alley

All this time I shut my mouth
For if I talk, I'll only say three words
Which in turn would erase everything
'Cause I can see you're still not ready

There is a boy at work with laughter that feels like October. Kind eyes hidden behind shy smiles and butterfly wings for eyelashes. He makes early mornings feel like Christmas, I can’t be sad when I’m around him. When he’s beside me I forget everything that has ever hurt me. But there’s a girl with blonde hair and green eyes, a girl that radiates positivity and beauty. We’re almost the same but she’s so much better. I didn’t know it was possible to be a knockoff of yourself before I met her. She holds his heart and it stings to know that I’ll never be the one to see him smile in moonlight or hear him sing in the shower. Autumn boy you make me feel alive again, but your beautiful girl makes you feel immortal and I could never compete.

You make me feel unwanted.
I wonder if maybe it’s my fault::
          Did my silence make you leave?
          Did I bore you with my wrongly
          timed lack of energy?
I question my value.
Am I just not good enough for you?
You send signals I perceived as mixed.
You’re too kind to be a random passerby
Your blueberry eyes lock with mine for too long to be a courteous habit of life.
You don’t really compliment that often do you?
The hardest to dismiss is the week we met.
The proximity for prolonged time,
The warmth from how close our bodies were set.
Maybe I’m just mad of cabin fever,
Too long to distinguish hopefully wishing from an interested soul.

What I mean to say is that I heard the angels weep when I first saw you smile. I imagined that there was an invisible string wrapped around my heart and tied to the corners of your mouth.
        When you smirked, my heart skipped a beat.
Before that, your lips were parted, your mouth was open ever so slightly, and I have never ached so badly to kiss someone.
        I thought about how they would feel under the touch of my
        fingertips.
Your eyes--the color of the soil of the earth.
        I've dreamt of being buried in both.

So it goes--God created everything, and everything he created was good.
        And you are the firmament; you are the most heavenly,
        wondrous thing.