back to basics

the charcoal-cappuccino-foam sky consumes the high rises from above.

you skin is silver gilt and just as precious.
your kindness is a boa constrictor
and my heart is its prey.

the crossing light protects the corner like a guard
and the orange stop hand casts a hue over your face,
emphasizing texturized imperfections
in a way that just makes me love you more.

i want to reach my hand out,
your face like a topographic map
i need to feel the mountains and valleys of,
and taste the river that forms the line of your mouth.

i feel like a teenager holding another person for the first time,
and similarly,
i think i will drown if i let go.

all my haikus

first time getting drunk,
also lost my virginity.
terrible idea.

action potential:
oh, how much i despise thee.
please just go away.

it's snowing again;
tiny snowflakes pierce my eyeballs.
ow, it kind of hurts.

what is going on,
can't stop thinking in haikus.
Someone please help me.

you are my beacon

the absence of your bodily mass
leaves an empty space in the atmosphere
where the air crashes inward to occupy,
like the way thunder is made.

i can't help but see you
as a beautiful, shining light
that i stare at, unmoving,
in awe,
that's meant to guide me
as a lighthouse guides sailors through the night.

this is nostagia

temporally traveling in music albums.

Everything is Alive, Pomegranates.

this means it's 2008
and I'm sitting in the passenger seat of a
gold Chevy Malibu.

listening to this specific set
of arranged noises
i can be 16 again.

conversations with you

your mouth hovers open
in preparation for speech;
thoughts not yet organized.
with teeth barely poking out from above
as if clamoring for their chance in the spotlight of conversation.

if you close your mouth,
your lips still tremble as you decide
what to say:
two pairs of flesh appearing to be in a dance.

i watch your mouth so closely
because all i want is to touch my lips to yours
and taste your special amylase recipe
i've come to crave.

when the words finally do come,
in passion, you lean close
and place special pauses in all your good stories
like you're carefully crafting each syllable
for me.