Soft arms
Sewn to sheets
In the afternoon sun,
Are no more significant
Than the slurs that
Slipped out of a body
Carried by drunk, staggering
Legs.

I am small hands,
the last icicle in spring,
yellow bruises on a lover’s neck,
the pit
of a peach.

I love you.

Every morning and every evening. Every minute in between.
Every rainfall, every gust of wind, every breath of sun.
Every ticking clock, every beat of music.
Every falling eyelash.
Every honest sigh, every lie.
Every book read.
Every late-afternoon coffee.
Every failed attempt at…

Maybe if I move to a new city….

Detached Thoughts

I’m watching a show on National Geographic about volcanoes in Iceland.

I want to go swimming at the beach again this summer, but I know you won’t be there to help me stay above water when it gets too deep or look out for jellyfish. Your companionship is worth more to me than your love ever was.

Fuck the union.

I was going to call so we could talk about the design for one-acts but a ringing phone tends to disturb a wife and children. Maybe tomorrow.

R.E.M. sleep has become such a foreign concept to me.

My dog’s quiet snoring is comforting.

The fact that my music appreciation teacher/choir director counted in French when we played Trivial Pursuit today was amazing.

Inhale, exhale, let go.

Repeat.