INK. and a happier tomorrow

There's a bruise on my bottom lip
and I'm standing in the kitchen
wondering if I would make you coffee

but I'm barefoot.

Touching all the glass window panes,
I make believe
that you would stay with me

but it's Sunday morning.

The sky is crying over your smile and my smile
and your eyes
and my hands

but it's forecasted sunshine.

I've carved a hole in the Berlin Wall
that marks off the edge of the Earth.

You go first.

Bruise

Devoid of parameter

                                   I'm crossing my i's and dotting my t's 

                                   when and how I please.

Thoroughly indicative of another day time terror

I watch her like she's                   fragile                      and

losing hope in my half-way house dream.

I'll never be quite right. 

She breathes in another language

and my heartbeat can't keep up.

Lightning is striking

                                        the sand                                   in my hand                                 and

its burning like someone forgot me. 

She turns the oceans into possibility, wrapped up in the snow. 

She knows where to go.

I'm trying to keep up, but I'll run out of gasoline on the highway when she kisses like a beauty queen and laughs like the  fourth of December. 

Feather dusters keep the pace and scar her face

                                       she's found disgrace

 in me.

In leaning over wrecking balls, and manipulating the moonshine glow, she's made her mark out of the dark.

I'll never know beauty in Arabia

but tomorrow, we'll run away. 

upside down calendars

Like a dance along a fantasy island, your little tongued discrepancy is a beautiful shame.
You are so much better than I could have dreamt when I counted your breaths all those mornings, before we were woken by the laughter of the oceanic views.
Too phenomenal to compare, all the boisterous similarities you find with the whole human race make your visions of grandeur and your cinematic taste seem rather obvious.
You are everything everyone expected you to surprise us with.
Even the way you lie is breathtaking.

She had EXIT ONLY tattooed on the back of her neck so that when she left, everyone suddenly understood what they had been dealing with all along. There wasn't anything closer than infinity to her outer edges, which she had learned to fray a thousand leagues under the sea during the Summer of her infancy. Then, like a childhood year-long tragedy, she was forgotten.
It hit the rest of them like a black hole in the middle of the day; the sun was absolved of its sins until the moon outgrew the millions of millenniums that had passed.
Little talks and garbage trucks had the same volume and the text of the bible began to burn. It was coming to an end and she hadn't loved hard enough to know what she missed out on that coming of the dawn. Luke warm, boiling, and icy cold, all at once, they were sitting in the bed, closing tight their eyes against the rays of Armageddon.
It's the reality of fantasies that historical and social cognitions always ruin the dream. Youth is fading just as quickly as adulthood is devouring the color in your cheeks.
You smile like there's something you haven't said.

Serendipity

She could've been a cupcake in another life; her candy coated lips made the words she didn't speak taste like little apple wood fireplaces to warm the snow that fell onto the black slate roof. They were collecting sun for the night, they were collecting moon for her dreams, and they almost stopped washing the tiles in order to hold on to the sonatas that they wrote in the dust during summer. But internationalities wept for the lost regard of the immediate future and blood colored fingernails made for a fantasy ride. True, the left-overs still smell sweet, but she wanted to bake something every day to show that the essence of their sin would always carry with them the warmth of another time. Moving along horizon lines and dancing on longitude, she would have morphed her physicality and made her name something more Abrahamic and less pop-music. In her philosophy class, though, she meandered without hope, remaining flawless in her recognition of the possibilities that were mounting themselves to the staccato wall without bereft regard. Coolant and radiation aside, there were many more moments left before she could give up on never giving up. Until the ocean hit the mountains, however, she would wait. Eternity was whimsical when one lived a lifetime of serendipity.

Esoteric

You're painting with watercolors in the sky every time you blink through this rainstorm that the gods have created to make everything more difficult to see.
Driving alone, listening to the music of the street lights bounce back at you from the dashboard, there are empty boats filled with empty bottles that have emptied people because nobody really appreciates the sensation of being alive. It's hard to breathe, yes, but you're breathing.
I'm at the junction that will take me to the place that people told me that I need to be. But, I'm merging through traffic and it seems like maybe there's another choice.
I'd like to learn to speak silently so that standing next to you, I can still hear your voice in libraries and cemeteries and museums.
It's getting greener. There's something about the way the rain clears the vision so that suddenly everything that is beautiful can be seen by everyone.
Someone once said that seeing is believing, but frankly I've got a much more esoteric view on things.
I'm the stranger. You're the sun. You're driving me mad, but I feel everything. I appreciate being alive.

It hurts to breathe, but I'm too busy breathing in you to notice. 

Red Wine

It tasted like red wine and a superfluous mixture of extraordinary love and indescribable sorrow inside of her mouth the night before she forgot how to spell her own name. There's a cocoon wrapped up inside of wrought iron cages to keep all the sensations inside her bed. They are just a centimeter too far apart for their cells to begin to replicating into one another, but their breathing makes it seem like a mile stands between their comfort and the rest of the world.
They make much more sense together than they ever did before. They walk while trading hands and minds and secrets made up of chai tea and reminiscence. Beautifying the ramifications of a lifetime of inadequate nightmares, they both have suddenly located the X on the treasure map.
They stand back to back, hiding the way that they hold hands in the shadows. They are living a hundred years in the past and seven months in the future, wishing in a different language and reading about the way that other people have loved before. It's nothing that can quite compare.

Light houses were calling her home off the exit past oblivion and before the universal sign of unexpected contentment. She was a summer day in December, with fireworks in her eyes and a smooth serendipity on her lips. Little market places would open when she passed them on the street, with eyes that begged for her to beg back, but she kept her nose pointed toward the yellow house on the left, and she made up stories about the world inside her nightmares in an attempt to create someone more beautiful than she let herself forget she had become. The blue door and the blue shades and the blue awnings were all closed in the afternoon because she broke her promise never to hope again. Fate was swinging underneath the willow tree and blowing bubbles out of dishwasher soap and red wine. She watched as Fate licked her lips and pointed to the cliffs far behind. The girl with the striped sweater, who cut her hair to forget what people wanted, who laughed with her mouth open and her eyes shut, who kissed with reverence and wondered what tomorrow could do to top today, turned. Destiny was standing behind her, with skin like the moon and eyes like safety. Destiny, on the other hand, laughed with her eyes open and her mouth closed. Destiny looked at her the way that a daydream would look at a night dream, the way that contemplation looks at a wayward thought, the way that a lover would look at the unloved. They saw each other once upon a time.

It was almost too much.

Madness

Lifting up the fingerprints you left on my forearms, I’m trying to prove to myself that any of this is real.
You’re a daydream and a nightmare.
You’re everything I want and so much I can’t have.
It feels like fingers are running up and down a piano on my spine so that I’ll learn to walk in time and not look at you the way that I know I shouldn't look at you.
It’s hard sometimes.
Silk depositories have grown up in my eyelashes and on your rosebuds, and it’s a walk into a wonderland where the clouds never look down so we’re left perpetually looking up.
Madness is catching.
Attempting to color in my dreams, it seems, to the untrained and uncouth eye, that you could be just right.

Truth is, we’re all wrong here.

Sheets

The atmosphere became silk when the leaning tower finally fell.

Living in a phrase of yesterday's forget-me-nots and tomorrow's velveteen sunrise, I could watch those eyes in the palm of my hand and trace the movement of your mouth from our hideaway to my secrets. I'm holding on to the remedy for desire, which is two parts regret and not quite enough melancholy to make it worth while to lose this beautiful disaster. Breaking in through the unlocked gate, it's fate who greets the lawful and the poet who will lead the two of us home. 

If you wake me, I'll never sleep again. 

Because it's so addictive, your poignancy, and the way that everything fits, that I'm licking little dances off of the right side of what you left, since there was daylight in your eyes and nighttime in my fingertips. Standing bare foot on the concrete, there was music falling off your tongue and landing with little splashes so that the ocean became a technicolor fantasy version of your mind. I've tied anchors to my wrists and my ankles so that I won't float away every time you breathe.

You're a masterpiece's stolen wishful thinking and, when I look in from the outside, it seems that every possibility that has ever been a possibility is made possible because of you.

It fell around us, and for a moment inside of a breath, we were still.