I keep trying to convince myself that I haven't been in love yet.
And I think that's because I certainly have loved, but it didn't last.
And I think my heart is broken because the reality is that love sometimes doesn't last.
And I think I always secretly hoped and believed and wished that love always lasts.
So the fact that I've loved before and lost it, means that there is less of me to give.
Like some how I am a little dirtier, or a little more worn, than if I had never loved.
Because I think somehow I believed that love was not a renewable resource.
And I'm only now learning that love can come and go. Love does come and go.
Some infinities are greater than oner infinities.
So you thank love for having joined you and you whisper "so long" as it leaves.
And then since you gave away all your current stock of love you go and sit quietly and recharge.
Like you're a battery.
Like you will love again someday.
But batteries go bad, too.

So I'm doing this new thing
Where I fall in love with you because you are completely unattainable.
I'm in love, and it's great.
And I don't care that you're not.
And that is the key.

ice.

You balance yourself on the edge of a blade

And float along taunting it.

There’s a trust in your tools rarely possessed.

A calmness that transcends upwards

In a slow trickle from the tip of that sheer streak

To the whites of your eyes that look at me and scream…

…but I promise if you teeter there, you won’t fall.  

Please just look at me a little longer.

Look at me and realize I’m looking back.

Look at me and let me balance with you.

Please just look at me.

tiny twinnnngging dancer

I just sort of fling about.

Toss things in funny directions.

Spit up on myself and trip.

One second I’m freezing cold and the next I’m in Africa.

In my head it’s all one big twirl.

And not the good kind with a clear start and an impending finish.

But rather, the kind where the dancer just keeps dancing.

Just keeps spinning..

And the crowd, rumbling, starts to applaud..

Cause she still hasn’t stopped…….

places

Places exist on my skin that frankly, I don't want touched.
They mean other things.
They mean other people.
They are rough or scarred or blurry.
I've spent years dodging hands and arms and touches and kisses. And I'm good at it.

But you….
... have successfully found all these new locations I didn't know I had……

Move me.

Though I try,
 I can't seem to come up with an image
 more attractive than your open lips on my forearm,
 slipping slowly downward 
 leaving trails of lust 
 where your tongue has been. 

 And onward, 
the freedom I denied 
in favor of your control, 
move me. 
Continue to move me.

Laying Around

and as you lay there you wonder where the sun went
and why you're still not tired.
and why you couldn't get it all done.
and why does the laundry pile up so quickly
and will this vicious cycle ever break
and will anyone ever love you
and is there life outside our universe
and if you remembered to lock the door.

Snuff

How did I do that?
How did I snuff you right out?
How did I scare away the life in you when quietly,
all I had hoped was to take hold of it's hand's grasp for a moment
and ring rosy in a circle in the green grass on the hill that we passed
when I said
"don't you want to just run and not stop"
and you said "I used to..."

Lastly

and lastly, but possibly most importantly, why it's certainly been more than four hundred and twenty seconds but you're still wide awake.