Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Nineteen
After every instance in which you have pressed the tips of your fingers to the gates of your mouth and offered in my direction the seal of your lips,
I have caught all offerings and accepted each gift more willingly than the last,
and I hold each kiss within my fist— So when I am given your final gift,
when I loosen my grip, a lifetime will pour out, and the winds of our love will shape the skies above.
January 6, 2014

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Nineteen

After every instance
in which you have pressed
the tips of your fingers
to the gates of your mouth
and offered in my direction
the seal of your lips,

I have caught
all offerings
and accepted
each gift
more willingly
than the last,

and I hold each kiss
within my fist—
So when I am given
your final gift,

when I loosen my grip,
a lifetime will pour out,
and the winds of our love
will shape the skies above.

January 6, 2014

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Eighteen
Despite all I am and all I have done, I am and have done nothing without you.
My sights are unseen, my voice goes unheard, my touch is unknown until I have you painting my visions, transcribing my words, absorbing my skin.
Our love will be real. Our lives will be whole.
In worse times, even, wait for cleaning rain, wait for less thunder, wait for warmer wind.
All storms come and go, and the final cloud takes darkness with it. There, below, we sit with leftover rain, the sounds of silence, and each other’s hands.
I have and I am all I have wanted and all I can be because you are there.
October 22, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Eighteen

Despite all I am
and all I have done,
I am
and have done
nothing without you.

My sights are unseen,
my voice goes unheard,
my touch is unknown
until I have you
painting my visions,
transcribing my words,
absorbing my skin.

Our love will be real.
Our lives will be whole.

In worse times, even,
wait for cleaning rain,
wait for less thunder,
wait for warmer wind.

All storms come and go,
and the final cloud
takes darkness with it.
There, below, we sit
with leftover rain,
the sounds of silence,
and each other’s hands.

I have and I am
all I have wanted
and all I can be
because you are there.

October 22, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Seventeen
If I were written, I should not be read until you arrive in the boldest, most elegant poetry disguised as prose.
As prose, you are seen by any eyes and you are loved by every all the same.
But as poetry, you are seen by my eyes and you are loved by me as only I can.
September 24, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Seventeen

If I were written,
I should not be read
until you arrive
in the boldest,
most elegant poetry
disguised as prose.

As prose,
you are seen
by any eyes
and you are loved
by every
all the same.

But as poetry,
you are seen
by my eyes
and you are loved
by me
as only I can.

September 24, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Fifteen
I only think about you when I think about how long it’s been since I last thought about you, and I say to myself, “Don’t.”
I haven’t seen your honest face since you left me alone on your bed, but I saw two big glass eyes in my head just now, and I said to myself, “What are you doing?”
I am made to remember you when the songs are quiet moths fall on the porch my hair’s too greasy garlic has no air my hunger is gone— but using my given senses just means I’m alive, so I can’t tell myself to stop.
2 September 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Fifteen

I only think about you
when I think about how long it’s been
since I last thought about you,
and I say to myself,
“Don’t.”

I haven’t seen your honest face
since you left me
alone on your bed,
but I saw two big glass eyes
in my head just now,
and I said to myself,
“What are you doing?”

I am made to remember you when
the songs are quiet
moths fall on the porch
my hair’s too greasy
garlic has no air
my hunger is gone—
but using my given senses
just means I’m alive,
so I can’t tell myself to
stop.

2 September 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Fourteen
The way I feel for you wanders within me not like a butterfly searching for nectar, but like a moth searching for light.
Though my cravings never subside— I want all of you, and in dozens— my mouth already sings the song of your skin. The light, however…
The light resides in my heart. And despite the way the way I feel for you searches like a moth, I don’t yet know if I want the way to find the way to the light.
August 24, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Fourteen

The way I feel for you
wanders within me
not like a butterfly
searching for nectar,
but like a moth
searching for light.

Though my cravings
never subside—
I want all of you,
and in dozens—
my mouth already sings
the song of your skin.
The light, however…

The light
resides in my heart.
And despite the way
the way I feel for you
searches like a moth,
I don’t yet know
if I want the way
to find the way
to the light.

August 24, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Thirteen
   Bluejay pecking at the cherry blossom tree    delivered from Japan, you are home with me.
   When I feel discomfort, likes beads of sweat along my neck,    I’ll recall the bluejay at home and the way it used to peck.
   If I could fall into a rhythm just as the bird has in my tree,    who’s to say the rhythm could not fall straight into me?
   But who am I to say, when I feel a tightness in my neck,    the pain isn’t from miming the bluejay and the way it used to peck?
August 10, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Thirteen

   Bluejay pecking
at the cherry blossom tree
   delivered from Japan,
you are home with me.

   When I feel discomfort,
likes beads of sweat along my neck,
   I’ll recall the bluejay at home
and the way it used to peck.

   If I could fall into a rhythm
just as the bird has in my tree,
   who’s to say the rhythm
could not fall straight into me?

   But who am I to say,
when I feel a tightness in my neck,
   the pain isn’t from miming the bluejay
and the way it used to peck?

August 10, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Twelve
I am held together by the knowledge that I will see you when I return home. But, what binds each of your bones to their muscle and each hair to your skin? What holds you together? I imagine your substance must be the sunlight, because when I come home, I know within every ounce of my secured body that when I lie in bed with you, your entirety— in the presence of the moon— will fall to pieces and cover my bones my muscle my hair my skin and keep me warm through every hour of the night.
July 25, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Twelve

I am held together
by the knowledge
that I will see you
when I return home.
But, what binds
each of your bones
to their muscle
and each hair
to your skin?
What holds you together?
I imagine your substance
must be the sunlight,
because when I come home,
I know within every ounce
of my secured body
that when I lie
in bed with you,
your entirety—
in the presence
of the moon—
will fall to pieces
and cover my bones
my muscle
my hair
my skin
and keep me warm
through every hour
of the night.

July 25, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Eleven
You are a woman more magnificent than magnificent when spoken in French,
which makes wonder: Why am I not the tongue against your teeth in the middle of magnifique?
Because, belle, bien que vous ne me souviens plus des mots, I could listen to you for days without rest, and this makes me want to make you remember. Then, avec votre langue lisse, you could take me both to places I have never been, as well as home.
But, honestly, the way I see it— from underneath of you with your hair dripping like a leaf in June— every place I go is something new to me, as well as a place called home, et je dois vous remercier.
July 24, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Eleven

You are a woman
more magnificent
than magnificent
when spoken in French,

which makes wonder:
Why am I not the tongue
against your teeth
in the middle of magnifique?

Because, belle,
bien que vous ne me souviens plus des mots,
I could listen to you for days without rest,
and this makes me want to make you remember.
Then, avec votre langue lisse,
you could take me
both to places
I have never been,
as well as home.

But, honestly,
the way I see it—
from underneath of you
with your hair dripping
like a leaf in June—
every place I go
is something new to me,
as well as a place called home,
et je dois vous remercier.

July 24, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Ten
I have noticed every key I use carries its own weight. While most are the very same, I have noticed the U & period keys are far heavier than most. And in my thoughts I have noticed this is because everything I do will always end with only you.
July 17, 2013

Untitled Typewriter Poem No. Ten

I have noticed
every key I use
carries its own
weight. While most
are the very same,
I have noticed
the U & period
keys are far
heavier than most.
And in my thoughts
I have noticed
this is because
everything I do
will always end
with only you.

July 17, 2013