I could see you on that bench
In the cold
After the rain
A note book, your music
Some smokes if you did.
Hair long, face unshaved
Soul tortured by something unnamed

You see me how I want to be seen
You see me for who I want to be

I can see you
In that chair
Face contemplative
Compassion unhidden behind those eyes
You count the sparrows in the sky
And I wait expectantly
For that smile

You take me from my greatest fears
You save me from myself

I saw you
When you would first ignite my soul
Unafraid of vulnerability
I learned who I am
By holding your hand
While you traced the lines
That would tell our lives

Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful soul
Tilting your head to laugh at your shoes

When you hold me
I’m no longer dead
As we play tag,
Without the running away
And killing restlessness
Is the best decision made
If it brings me close to you

Everyone just wants to be seen.
I see you, always you

dancing
she's the ballerina
she played when she was five
spinning
down the silver pole
sand would get into her eyes
lipstick
red, like mother wore
now heels fit without kleenex
fingers
graze along her thigh
rents covered till month next.

...how often do I simply try to get by..
And when was the last time I appreciated the pain
Or his laugh
Is life really composed from magazines
God, lets not be silly
I take and I take
I’m the sort
Who hates myself
When I pass too many red leaves
Without picking one up
I’m not scared
To trip on shoe laces
I just don’t want them to get dirty
And the breath on the cold glass
Made me twist inside
My lips still remain
Pressed invisibly in that shade
I’d chew on my smile
For the sake of saving a pen
And I wish I’d smell more flowers
And try to laugh a little harder
And be unafraid to be myself.

Unlike the imagined
Forever indefinable
At least for me.

Life is
The emotion that rises in me
When yellowed leaves
Race toward the ground.

Life is
The child jumping up and down
While parents laugh
In symphonies.

Life is
That backlit ally
With Lovers against walls
Next to garbage cans

Life is
Waiting for the car to strike
And begging God
You’re forgiven

Life is
A million dollars
From the biology degree
And a company of shrimp

Life is
The cut along my finger
That pounds through my body
When squeezed with lime

Life is
The photo in the gallery
That makes me linger
For no reason other than
...The hope for explanation...

Mondays
Produce in me
The nostalgia
The Plethora
Of what I’d like to be

Mondays
The ones that smell of winter
When headlights barely are of use
And graveyards
Become homes
To more than just those bodies

Mondays
Gave way to Sundays
Or maybe it was Tuesday
But Who’s to say?

Mondays
I wish I was the kind of person that could wish for one honestly
I believe that if you can hope for a Monday, and be delightful in the fact that another week has begun...Well, perhaps that’s when you know you’ve reached serenity...or is it insanity?
Mondays
Aren’t as bad as we seem to twist them to be. Though they do make me restless, no, excuse me, that’s everyday.
Mondays
Aren’t as tough as we’ve painted them to be. I’d like to make them beautiful, despite the muddied colors.
Why do I forget.

It was in that stairway
With the familiar orange glow
It was on that street
Crossing to reach the words that defined us
It was in that bed
Lips pressed onto my neck
It was in that car
Profanity thrown
It was down the road
Hand clasping hand
It was at that table
In that restaurant
It was on that bench
When ducks learned to walk
It was under blankets
And over hills
In the lake
And at my house
Down the Avenues
Up the fire Escape
The farmers market
It was here
There, around that corner
Against the wall,
An ally way
A park at dusk
And my dreams at night.

It was you
It always has been.
It always will be.

lonely boy, lonely boy
why'd your bird fly away?
naivety filled her restless heart
and your dreams began to fade

little bird, little bird
life is better if you stay
the boy you love has seen your soul
and apart you'll both be dead