Wind

I ran on dirt roads and eggshells to get to you.
Fix me, I said, Awakened.
You are the eastern sun
Torn from grass and gems
Backwards praise from gods unseen.
Rise up, and take me with you to someplace without shadow
Leave empty behind. Torn up.

Glass mixes with diamond flakes, taunting
We will know better than to cloud our eyes with beauty.

There are wings stuck to my bones and I don't know how to open them
I want to be cut open, they pick at the waste I've made.

Tipping Slide

I was made for sunny days
for whispered tales and spirited slopes
for backs of palms and thirst
for roses bent with dew
I was made for passion filtered
for weeks gone by in hazy mist
for unlocked doors and chains of grass
I was made for you.

I want to fill in parts of you so together we are whole
and hide myself in what you make of me
pieces of me break into light when you say my name
and I am transcended, this time.

Window

I want to curl around you and tell you secrets
and memorize your heartbeat through your fingers.
but I know that's not us. that's not you. that's not me.
so here we are, drifting.
what can we say to ourselves without failing?
I am not made to bend
but wherever you are I yearn for.

One of our own to say

your fate is not for you, but for those who mete the plane.
go soft. go steady. they will wait on banks for you.
you are angles and razors
an untouchable daze or some sort of monster
and all i see around you is red and dust.
X? Uncross your arms,
you can't see what's ahead through your wrists.
the paths are laid, the fields are drawn
come leave those voices behind.

Spit.

we can only come together with moonlight

when She is watching over our intentions and desires

so nothing distracts us from the task at hand, at our feet.

kiss me finally at midnight, kiss me deep to turn the day

pressed against cold glass, frosty metal, wind on skin

but you are warm and we are here, alive

and nothing is more alive than we; two twentysomethings far from love

but near to bursting with intangible something, remarkable something

something deeper than thought, telling us to live and live and live

and live we do, for a moment, slammed into the doors of cars

for one fleet of dreams, we were idle, on the brink

the moon still looks on, too old to hide Her eyes

we are the history of Mankind embodied and wrapped in smoke and mirrors

bodies hot, heavy steam, holy water

there are no words, no nagging wishes and lost hopes

screaming supicions of guilty slopes

only you, only us, and we are only air,

made of things twisted in dirt

and from earth we are made 

and to earth we pay true tribute

and with earth we married lay,

until then we crash together again and again,

once or twice watched over 

hoping one time, hoping tonight

our pace matches ill-begotten stars

A Confession. or Concession.

it seems like every New Year I start it off my giving some dude a blowjob in some inopportune place
and I'm a firm believer in that my year is affected by the way I begin it
I mean start it off one way and it's kinda like why change who I am this year when I can do it later
how American of me
I feel like 2013 is code for "choke on it, bitch"
in one of those secret codes I used to make in 3rd grade
so no one could read my love letters to various snotty-nosed hellions
some things never change and now I'm writing lust letters with my tongue
letters to snotty-nosed hellions who just learned to bring tissue and got a little taller
mid blow-job I think about what I'm gonna do when I get home
like sleep mainly but also pee
i think about the scarf I'm crocheting and how I'm gonna buy more yarn soon
and how girls like me doing things like this are what's wrong with society
oops
lastly I think about writing this down
and I get all sorts of ideas for what to write
and I'm kinda happy
so I guess blowing dudes for new years
sparks my creativity
for the rest of the year
a fair price, i think

Idlechild.

There is a blue night outside my window that beckons.
I am typically ignorant of howls of wind or gusts of snow, but tonight I relent.
I press my ear to cold glass, goosebumps gather on my skin.
I hear whispers. indistinguishable, faltering.
Slowly they solidify and echo back in waves:

hear us. here we are. know us as we know you.
you are everywhere but where we choose to be, for that be grateful.
now is your chance. abandon thought, abandon speech. we are here.
this is the harvest; these sacred hours bend for seldom few. 
fluid is the space between two types of beast. 
hear us. we plead for you, your beating heart.

 A four-second stillness inside of my chest.

underneath my skin there is a sudden urge to fight,
Like a battle cry made of shivering bones to which I must respond.
I put on my coat, knowing soon I will have no need for warmth.
My hat, shoes, gloves. Somehow,there is comfort in finality.
For a moment, I think of goodbyes, but to whom? I have no words.
Only some sort of stir, some sort of rift, some sort of guide,
That tells me I am not meant for boundaries of flesh.
Once more I press my ear to glass, then my lips
Whisper to them of my arrival with my soon-begotten tongue:

i hear. i come.