Saucer Eyes, Cobwebs, and Things About Counting Letters
i caught a glimpse of the magic in the corner places of your eyes i know you don’t see it all the time you’re too busy staring straight ahead eyes narrowed and sharp on the future but baby
join this autumn afternoon with me dive into it this rainy day bookstore moment that i want to spend with no one but you if i could only find your hand in my pocket these days instead of just pockets too often i only find holes at any given moment between 8 months previous and the moment you first called me beautiful any time between sun down and sun up you could find the same holes in my hands waterlogged palms so soaked in memory you could see my tired feet between the lines i was always looking down
good thing you’re taller than me
even when my chin doesn’t want to i have to look up to see those eyes but isn’t that just like you? you don’t even know how important you are you still don’t know you’re amazing. that glimmer in your gaze was the first hint i know you can’t see it. but i’ve been told i have eyes as big as saucers and as reflective as mirrors maybe i can show you yourself maybe i can shed some sort of soft light on the parts of yourself you put the candles out on long ago for fear someone would love them that someone would love you i want your cobwebs i want your dust i want to collect it and throw it to this northern wind i’ve been singing about and make you new polish you with my eyes shine you with my hands baptize you with my teeth
you are so very important you are so very necessary
there are 31 letters in the 1,247 miles between our respective hideouts and distance is an 8 letter word that has never sat well with me but you make it so easy to smile so let’s get away with this, my darling there are 8 letters in “I love you” too.
I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have everything. You can have my time, my devotion, my ass, my money, my family, my dog, my dog’s money, my dog’s time — everything. If I love you, I will carry for you all your pain, I will assume for you all your debts (in every definition of the word), I will protect you from your own insecurity, I will project upon you all sorts of good qualities that you have never actually cultivated in yourself and I will buy Christmas presents for your entire family. I will give you the sun and the rain, and if they are not available, I will give you a sun check and a rain check.
parallels between our two last shitty relationships
anatomically incorrect naked women
the line on a saturday night after too much whiskey and even more missing you
they’re not very good ones
doodles in the margins of the art theory essay i am writing this on
breath when my mind hits capacity but it’s still missing air. hitting a wall is sometimes only cured by oxygen. the walls in our conversations are always cured by deep breaths.
out what you want to say when you’re too afraid i’ll yell. i never thought raising my voice to someone would raise their ghosts. i promise i will work on cutting those ties
exponential graphs about how much more i love you now than the day i left
upon my vocabulary when trying to explain the grinder of rocks in my stomach when i’m heaving to tell you only how much you mean to me and the careful way i place nouns at the temple steps of your ears. i do not need to tell you twice that they are all we have these days. you told me yesterday that you think in terms of movement, i can try my hand at sign language for you. i know that my words would weigh more with my hand in yours
things that are dripping
the blinds closed
shapes on your back in the whispers of midnight. no matter if we can’t remember them by morning