The Fingertips of a Voice

Thin sheen of water on a floor
Invisible until touched
The fingertips of a voice send ripples through
Memories puddled there
Growing to waves of contemplation
What was said back then
Felt in deepness of the gut
The wind of heavy breath adding to the whites
Of his eyes and the waves
Travel to the other coast
Crash against deeply seized hearts
Washing down throats with swallowed thoughts
Leaving salt on the tongue
From great bodies of pining
When the annual touch transpired
But as the waves and phone lines break
I tear away from the enthralling current
And bursting to the surface
My lungs refind the air
Of only lightly missing you from afar
So that I can keep afloat.

No Eclipse

You are staring at the sun
Blindness in beauty and awe
Try to stop what has begun

Light that compares to no one
Can cause them but has no flaw
You are staring at the sun

Color exceeded by none
Wanting on but you withdraw
Try to stop what has begun

Danger not to be undone
Through my skin and eyes you saw
You are staring at the sun

The casing bursts from a gun
After the shot, hot and raw
Try to stop what has begun

Heat and glory outrun
Freeze in fear only to thaw
You are staring at the sun
Try to stop what has begun

Post-Algebra

You and I were an open-ended equation.
Drifting, diving, dividing into what we both didn't know.
Using a previously unknown technique,
We introduced mayhem and true sacrifice under the guise of casual romance.
And we multiplied that by secrecy, humor, and a dual inability to communicate as functioning adults.
I loved buying you that lying ring.

What I Couldn't Write

There is no poetic way to say that I broke your heart
Every metaphor falls short of that fear in your eyes
No hyperbole can exaggerate minutes spent thinking of you
Similes paint a lifeless picture of the trust I shattered
The game of alliteration cannot dance around this remorse
Absolutely no onomatopoeia could express the sound of sobbing, the arms wrapped so fiercely, the breathing of hair, the tears falling to clothes, the pull away, the closing door...
And nothing rhymes with I’m sorry.

Parade of Want

I want to stay poor forever.
I want to be selfless enough to love you all again.
I want to dream of people that meant something.
I want to spin a web of truths.
I want to escape so many forces of habit.
I want to fall back asleep in the bed of my childhood.
I want to force time to be inconsequential.
I want to believe in more than I do.
I want to trust that I will die happy.
I want to knock on a strangers' door and be invited in.
I want to breathe the air from twenty other countries.
I want to rebuild those who matter.
I want to imagine the father of my future children being an amazing man.
I want to be contented by the sound of wind.
I want to grow my mind like a weed.
I want to accept my inability to ever fully know.
I want to learn to be a duck and allow words to roll of my back.
I want to remember that my days are numbered.
I want to expect what I deserve.
I want to feel my laughter shake the tips of my toes.
I want to smile in the faces of adversaries.
I want to be confident in the life that I choose to lead.
I want to create good.
I want to create good.
I want to create good.

A Couples' Weekend

"You don't really love me!"
Shrill female tones
Back to the wall, high pressure
His lungs feel every grove
In the plaster, dust
Wrists in hands
Fear in passion
Tongues in cheeks
Figuratively, then literally
Weird.
"You really do love me!"
Shrill female tones
Back to the wall, high pressure
His lungs feel every pulse
Breathing heavy
Loving heavy
Deep admiration, need
To stifle every
Mistake and such great heaviness,
To stifle every---
In mind.

Why Would I Imagine Such a Thing?

Fifteen minutes ago we locked eyes three times. Neither of us smiled. I'm not sure what you're excuse is, but I'm not in a smiling mood. It is possible that you were just looking at me because I was looking at you. That may have made you uncomfortable and uncomfortable people don't smile. The thing is, though, that I smile when I'm uncomfortable, and aren't we two similar people? So why weren't you smiling?
I'm beginning to feel that you had a plot in mind because I saw your car. Just for the record, the locked eyes were piece of evidence #1, and this is #2. But, yeah, I saw your car leaving the parking lot. Low to the ground like it was sneaking, rusted around the edges like your shower (I imagine). It was also distinctly boxy and blue, which makes me want to call it the BB-Car, or BBar for short (that actually may cause confusion because I do not plan on going bar hopping with you). It is the distinctiveness of this vehicle that adds meat to piece of evidence #2.
Just now--very, very recently--I saw your car again. You found me. Did you follow me here? It's lucky for you that I'm sitting on this stoop, right out in the open. If I were a functioning adult I would be inside with the air conditioner and some stock quotes. But I'm not. And I doubt you are because your car is a total piece. It's okay, though, because if we were those people you would not be sneaking glances at me through your driver's side window.
In your defense, that might not have even been you. This could just be my imagination running circles around my dappled rationality. However, in your prosecution, why would I imagine such a thing?