This happened on the same day.

How sweet
How warm
Is the pink
Of a Sunday

Lazy
Woolen
Despite
the heat.

Comfortable
Despite tight jeans

Expansive
Despite restrictions
Mapely
Crunchy

Heavy air
In the light breeze
And a hand in an eye
Reaching out to stroke your hair
And kiss the honey on your skin.



How easily can a paper
cut skin.
How it seems so harmless and clean.
Craftsmanship of every sort.
A blank page full of possibilities.
And yet just as easily it can slice right through your skin.
Small, seemingly insignificant cuts
That manifest later on
With searing pain.

There is a certain pride to be had in the claiming of constant pain.
"Never have I not felt it," as the cameras watch in the still darkness.
The sorrow the viewer feels is intevetable. The desire to care, the desire to comfort.
Silence passes between two entities.
The block of quiet is filled with pondering.
An eternal throb of ghosts weaves its way through the railing of the staircase, and the cameras just watch because they don't know what else there is to say.

Our lips move in sync.
The rhythm takes us in.
The constant beat of a bass
Moving us further in a sacred trance.
Magic hands explore the territory.
Tracing the edges of consciousness
The rhythm remains constant,
But a minor build
Results in
An explosion
And we drop.

Two entities

Two entities from different universes

A slow, gentle crash.

No casualties

But two

Magic hands contract.
Words unsaid make them linger.
Words unsaid that,
Like a piano hanging from a thread can drop in a second
And crush
Us
What can we be if our
Touches are tainted with
A thick, dirty guilt?

I cried for you last night.
Or was it for me?
You said your cheeks were wet
You didn't hear me when I told you
The tears were mine.
I'm destructive, you said.
And in short, I was afraid.

I want to take you to the mountains.
My chest fills with warmth.
I never thought it was possible for a plant to wrap around a brick house.
But in retrospect, of course it does.
How was I so blind to something so blaringly obvious?
Vines wrap around anything solid.
And brick houses just sit there, motionless as the world around it happens.

White staircase

We sat on the staircase, vulnerable to each passerby.
Eyelashes soaked.
Lips red.
Three words said,
Yet three words is too little.
Three words that are supposed to bring the sky bring the ocean instead.
We fear death by water.