FP

you bump against the core of me
like two noses rubbing so eyes can still
stare into, and into, and into each other.

my middle is warm and quiet, whispers love, but waits
silent as I smile into your skin.

Tonight cars are creeping past the window.
Yellow streetlights blink--on, off--on, again
and are green, and red, between each waiting.
The whole world hums.

Tonight, I am alone but am not lonely.
The T.V. on: soundless, and soothing;
familiar, and strange.

The cold slips in the window, its breath
a whisper on skin: exposed, to the elements
of memory, and of future, and of now.

Tonight, fingers reaching, to the blankets.
I pull, the velvet, sky down.

I see things out of the corners of my eyes and sometimes I think it's you--yes, you--and I remember because you never really left.

i miss you, in short.

nailed to every poem, an inside joke
on your insides (turned inside-out
so i can see: your flesh, on the table,
like we're all made of the same stuff.)

and i think we were at one time but not
anymore, because you're still--addicting--,
still laughter, still make me think "ladder"
think "death cab" think floors,
& we stare at ceilings (I think I wrote
you, once) instead of carpet stuck
under our nails.

Crawling the Ladder Down

You said the love that you make makes you
miss what you made before love.



We seemed something November, were Fall.
Like you saw something worth falling for.

The Balanced Life

I thought it said, "Start making cookies," and I had them all lined up: chocolate, oatmeal, gingersnap, pumpernickle, sugar-glazed, almond-raised, dough and chip, spoon to lick. But it said "making Choices," and I said, I've made mine. You want to argue war. I'm here to eat the sweets.

TollHouse

Is something like forgotten bubblegum on the tongue,
trapped in my hair while you twirl your fingers through it.

You taste, remarkable, like chocolate.
Your teeth are the flavor of apple pie.

Tomorrow may be Christmas but today is the apocalypse
lets go, swimming, but we never seem to drown.