written progressively throughout the day. Contemplating. Musing.

Ninth of January


If it would make a difference, I would shout to you

Come, behold! I am here in burning flesh and


And sometimes, leaning on your sofa

In black sweaters and breathing in your scent, your

Cinnamon and tea,

You'll talk and your words are blended in a shapeless blur—

Amore. The word hangs off my tongue in dark, heavy drops and

If I let it drop would it be as a dark flower?

All subtle blues and a thousand Arabian Nights?

And what is Freud's Id? The true, basic want?

Promise me with flowers and I will

Cry when they are wilted.

I love you

And the world is silent, yellow.


Your hand is tame, seeking to subdue

And I am escapist; she who eludes collars and

Is not there tomorrow.

Bless me with secrets and my seat will still be empty.


In a dream, we were in Europe and it was gray with

The mood of the concrete and the color of your sweater.

It was not snowing here, though even if it did—

Even if the snow was soft and grey and dead—

It would have been

Such a shame for the flowers.

To paint those colors with the consistency of


Sleep is always certain,

Waking up is not.

In a dream, we were in Paris sitting by the Notre Dame

Quietly contemplating the gargoyles and whether

I would still love you tomorrow

And the day after

And the day that I wake up.


Why is it I can not concentrate and

The time is coming slow and sure and

To a     s t o p

Like watching you when I

Know that you aren't looking.

I am still too young.


Sometimes I wonder what it would be like

To see you in the morning—you,

Made of days outside and warmth in winter

(maybe that's why snow's so cold)

Stand outside my window.

I am selfish with want and crazed with doubt.

Why am I still waiting?

Without you smells like tea and

Hair on carpet.


What he leaves behind is a


Dead-leaf echo.

A/N: I am a very experimental person. So I think I'm gonna go around and dabble in some styles (maybe actually learn what a haiku is) and such blah.

Blah Blah.