Are You Lightheaded Yet? (May 1, 2010)
It’s like gargling warm salt-water
but this is where 3:23 AM finds us,
fumbling around in a living room
made for ghosts
Lack of furniture urges me
not to stay, to pass through quickly
lest I get forgotten in this house
full of empty rooms
This blanket will do
Another means to an end,
and this is the night that I’m doing
everything I swore I wouldn’t
When I walk away from here
with my body flushed, my mouth
warm with something and my heart racing
to an unsteady beat
I’m not so sure I won’t regret you
and all the words you whispered to me
while we got to know each other
in the dark
Because the shadows are where it’s safest,
where every facet of you and I
can be stripped down and exposed-
and I know who I am now
I know who you are now
and never thought I’d let a loneliness
exceed my mind, let my heart plunge
ahead of my thoughts for an evening
We embrace, we exhaust, we breathe
into each other and out of each other
with your hands trying so damn hard
and your heart open for me to see.
I guess I’m a better actor than you.
________________________________________________
Hide and Seek (March 21, 2010)
I catch you
only in glimpses now,
in quick succession every couple seconds.
Lately, that’s how the memories come too.
Quick flashes.
Blips and blurs.
That smile you gave me once.
Your blue shirt that smells like my detergent now.
A kiss on the mouth.
This is what I’d call an impasse
and the feet seem like miles
between us. You clean up well.
I’ve missed you, but maybe I’m missing you alone.
You’re just around the corner,
standing against the wall
lined with typographic explorations
and animal masks. A senior’s thesis.
We just miss each other
by
mere
seconds.
There is no eye contact,
no quiet moment held between our gazes
from the opposite ends of this gallery.
No, there is only you
surrounded by conversation
and girls in pretty dresses.
I hide behind a wall of someone else’s work,
wondering where your display is
throughout this mess of an exhibition
and hope to God you see me,
and hope to God you don’t.
_______________________________________________
I Suppose (January 23, 2010)
I’m shaking you off like a second skin
Each layer peeling away, thin and brittle
As I feel lighter without the weight
I dog-eared the page of that book you lent me
And I haven’t decided just yet if you’ll get that back
If you do, perhaps you’ll remember me
On page 57- the page I stopped reading
Because I don’t care that it’s your favorite book
I still have the shirt you let me borrow
On Halloween night, when everything changed
I have decided that I’ll be keeping that
The one thing I feel like holding onto from you
There are little scraps of paper in my trash can
Notes written from you now left in pieces
Consider this my final thoughts
My tiny helpless grasp at closure
I suppose this is moving on
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