Newton’s Second Law

graph the ridges of my spine

take down each trench –

the drift of your fingertips oppose

the pressure of the sea level

as I drown.

Design me with florescent pens under the

Microscopic lens

Of your intense concentration.

Lay next to me, drawing one pixel lines

down my empty stomach while envisioning our dreams into staunch realities.

 

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Greenie

he’s turning on the shower

and i’m getting a glass from the kitchen cabinet

because i know where it is.

your shoe boxes are on the floor and i ask you

how many pairs you have,

stacked up against the fireplace built with

stones that i want to take out and roll in my hand until they become smooth

with time –

of the longest, slowest variety,

the same time i feel

when with you,

in the mornings, where the gel in your hair is worn out

and my mascara looks like we fought but

we made love instead.

Breadth of Significance

six years is too long

six months is too short.

and if we meet in the middle

i’d reflect

that it’s too

non-commital

on

either side.

it took 2 15-point turns to get

here.

the torrential streetview turned

into modules of mobiles

but i’m still standing – not up, not literally –

supported by the coolness

of a cement ceiling whose

chill lends a cinematicness

to my ruptured stance.

and rising above the lasered

lights of frantic cars,

i’d drop my ash and your name below

me.

45 Degree Angle

Sit. Stand.

Wait.

Excitement infects my every

limb,

getting a rise

off the thought of

an invitation — personal, problematic —

“probably”

will arrive at 10:09PM

past my bedtime

but not my threshold.

tolerance is reserved for politics

edurance is (shock) blanketed over lovers.

my eyes get wider, naiveté flashes and dies

and the soul itself brittels and jades

emerald and new

but false, hard, and far away.

one more time tilted round the sound.

this isn’t a cute position,

this shape shouldn’t define

my path is vertical and

it seems

you can’t reach it.

Acetone Cotton

Pull your corner up

tightly to match mine.

the synchronicity of

simple movements

smooth a smile

across my face.

Hand over hand,

clean and serene,

comfort embedded in two layers.

Tucked in your embrace,

a sensuous calm slides

upon our bodies–

each fiber playing on

my leg in perfect harmony

with your fingertips.

Stretched abreast the white expanse,

the sheets become a liaison for our

bodies to merge.

Hold on tight,

envelope every corner

with your touch.