rain will move things
around (and make them disappear)
little things
that you might not see
through a window;
all the lost petals
pink and
white
paper boats
and poems
i wrote for you
(and tossed out)
collecting somewhere
in a sewer grate.
sometimes when my brain is congested, it coughs, and words come out.
146our hands found the end of a day
and stayed,
in subtle movements
(in whispers)
of light
and air
tangled in curtains
finding the hushed transparency
of skin,
and we stayed there.
how can it be so easy for
you to put me in a corner
and cover me with cobwebs?
i’m glass
bottles
lost
to the Atlantic;
desperate
words
and salt water.
plant me in your mind,
i want to take root and drink
deeply from your thoughts.
(here)
on the surface
of a storm,
the most honest touch
i have ever known;
(you)
feeling the thunder, and
the skin
above
(my heart).
he liked to kiss her forehead,
little reminders
that her thoughts were beautiful.
sometimes silence is the loudest.
i can feel your heart(beat),
and that is enough.
i am nothing
but an aftertaste
of digested
words.
