The Sea

I’m just a tad more romantic

hopeless (to be exact)

the two combined

leave vomit on my shimmery and shine

same pants you rubbed

same sex you craved

and then the boxing bell rang loud

while we were in the bliss of all that fun

time to pack the bags

I have my train ticket

do you have the time?

I have my thongs with all the right words

do you have a rhyme?

I have my invites to the latest parties

do you want bits and pieces of my crime?

I confess to nothing

I embrace my sins

count me out

of the nails and pins

on the sleeves of your love

count me in

to the rhythm and blues of your heart

that’s all I wanted from the very start.

You, me, in all that denial

I sleep nude after I wake up

feel the sheets on my skin

as I press redial;

you hate when I call you

say the truth

stick me and you across in that booth

and your touching the letters

on my skin.

I dream in so much color

and waves of the ocean

the subtle drowning in me

wakes me up

I held my breath

from the bottom of the sea.

You might think I am a great storyteller

but I do not/cannot sit for four hours

in misery

reviewing colors and fabrics

with no glasses.

Just lay me down

I might float

or not.

A poem brewing

Find me resting

contemplating

how your light

can easily change

my dark mood

and just like that

the drive you’re on

becomes mine

with a snap of your fingers

your sunlight

sees mine.

Are you blinded by the light or the dark?

Philosophers understand

my words

follow me to cafe shops

and try to storm my mind

with quotes.

Finding anything to write on

I must explore

how

I feel your pressed lips

against my skin

change from day to day

finding less reasons

to love you

as the chill

of your soul

freezes mine.

Letting the cards fall

on my dining room table

allowing the money to buy me less

moments with you.

I can jump into a moving car

or crash into a yearning

solely for you

with your black shirt

and cool jeans

perfect look to match

the beauty I see inside.

It’s hard to hide from me

as much as it is

for me to hide

from you.

Literally impossible

and all my dark

becomes your light

and all my drives

lead to your door.

Nothing stops the traffic

like you can.

No images more lasting

than those I want

with you.

I want out.

I want in

with you.

Have you had enough of my words

my ups and downs

my laying in bed

watching Breaking Bad

my dishes piled high

have you had enough

of my writing spells

my edits

my red hair?

At every turn

there’s a poem

brewing,

pour the fucking coffee

we must talk.

IMG_8602.PNG

A jail full of kisses

A jail full of kisses

locked inside

my head

as I envision your lips

barely on mine

behind bars.

A play on words

Greek accents

and your growing

need to be on top of me.

I want to think of

all the ways

you’ll love me.

In the dawn of this new age

you could be just

as lost as I am

or not.

Cheerleaders are chanting

your name

and laying down their clothes

at the foot of your bed

I exaggerate all

isn’t that what writers do?

Isn’t this how poets feel?

Way too much?

Cut off from the real?

The Unreal?

The people we will never meet

the unbearable defeat

of oneself.

Even when I get

what I so want

I want more of it

and you will never want less of me

and more of her

and he will

continuously want all of me

for that is all he has ever wanted.

All this want

this need

to be alone in a jail cell

with no phone

no phone call

no computer

no book

no pen

no one to tell you how to feel

only your voice

in my ear

quietly

thirsty for

a tall glass of water

a plate of food

some sleep

all this and your kisses

all along my neck.

I always ask for way too much, I know.

I see the future. It hurts.