Naked Poetry

But she was nothin' like mother said she'd be. These things I say will not be delivered. Her blue looks sinister grey in this post mercy photograph. Or blistering blue. I can't tell you how much she loves you. Drinking coffee on the count of one and two she's dancing again. Thank goodness she kept her words warm in many places in case of emergency, sing her name. In case of emergency, sing her name.

(The prettiest girl you know)

My God must have been out sick the day I was forced to kiss the abyss. Morality suffers when eyes are wet and aching. "They're f***ing tortured." ...She was talking about my eyes. So I took my arm and muscle pumped my signature into the second step of my stairs and tree carved my literature in the backyard and called it, "working on my life." You laugh and ask me what does, "working on your life even mean?"  I knew then my hearts were too strong for you, too red and too blue. You lack empathy, and it's disgusting. I am not perfect. Nor do I wish to be but I would never ask someone to explain why they're not me.

A message to YOU. Yep, you.

She was pretty on the wet-eyed way. God— I love honest features.

The universe is nothing but droplets if you think about it lonely enough.

I am

Lonely enough

To celebrate

A box of tissues

Lonely enough

To build a bridge

Out of matchsticks

Because the little moments

Of red simplify the strength in me

Because the tiny stretches of red

Symbolizes effect

To me

The universe is nothing but a little more than

T h a t.

I love

Without

Knowing

. And I can't tell what I love about that

. Except that it's excellent,

expansive,

and I hope your mother can learn to

love me like that.

I was fine before the pheromones. Your hands made a maze out of my tendons let the ants out of my ligaments switch places head and thighs switch places my turn to experience your spine breathe the music hum this movement using your head, hips and hair BREATHE don't know anything BREATHE I can't talk about it. My knees locked and loaded, eyes closed begging to worship your body you had minnows in your stomach I knew it even before you rubbed the shark out of my neck.

It’s all love really.

It's a poem not a construct. I need reminding. Or do they? Writing to be focused. Having an affair. Pinning you down on a map and guess what, I'm X. But I don't think I'm treasure, no, not yet. I’m a Poem, not a construct.

Now I am dancing.

Now I am back.

Back at our standard

Back in our hour

Where we danced

Like it was the end of our movie.

Where you danced

Like it was the end of our movie.

Where we danced

Like it was the end of our movie.

Life was her movie and it was only

Thirty-two years long

Life is a movie and it’s only so many years long.

So by ALL MEANS, SCREAM.

3 thousand times

Less the hair on

A woman’s body.

More the love she will have for her

First born, second born,

Third, fourth, and beyond this

Greater than he length of this,

The Last Night.

Colder than I am when

When my nerves take their rest

Rest their break, break they do.

When my doors slam then close.

One more inch of snowfall

Left behind then each day. And hereafter,

Glad to escape these red dead eyes

Making sure they lead with their Sharp

Side.

My shoulders jolt and I scream for my Darling—

Wondering, how long will this one be?

And I don't know maybe you saw me as just a 32nd note or sixteenth but you were a whole note complete with a (birds eye) fermata