she is hunched, maybe
carefully,
over a piece of paper
it has determined her future

she is not, maybe,
a person,
warm roots in cold soil,
maybe blooming, naked, maybe.

does she, you wonder,
moisturize?
she has good skin,
even as she picks it apart.

I listen, detached,
as you laugh.
does she know you?
she should know you struggle for words.

her eyes are wide,
cute, prob'ly,
though you can't tell:
you can only see all of her

even that's tricky.
especially
'cause you can't look,
not for long, not without flushing.

is she looking?
you get caught.
you're imagining things,
and that's, oh god, embarrassing.

is she looking?
does she see--
does she look at me?
her hands might be rough 'cause she's

rough, physical,
plays in dirt.
lays out in the sun,
probably she even climbs trees.

she sets down her eyes and picks up her pen and gets to work.

you were damp, lonely
in the corners of your mouth
the base of your spine.

i am lonely still
but i know important things
like: you hate coffee

or: sometimes you steal,
and, like me, you ran away.
things like: you got out.

things like: you're special.
and: you think i think you're dumb.
your walk is distinct.

i am so aware
of you that i can see you,
no glasses, from here.

there is loneliness
in the corners of your mouth.
i want to taste it.

I'm passion, impassioned,
rocking against the bed
in my head in my mouth.
I am full
and I am weak and I
lost weeks and weeks to you,
toes tapping like you're gone,
like you are ready to run.
I won't notice everything
and I think that is the key:
That is what makes this different for me.

Sometimes I think
that lifespan is like wingspan
only you can't see it
and it doesn't do shit.

In my heart I have wings,
strange and wide
as long as my life.
I think if I did, you would
like me better.
I would have caught
the light
or your eye
and either way you might
have noticed me.
If I had wings, you would
touch them,
gingerly but enthralled.
If you touched me
I would not feel so small.

You are stupendous,
and I am stupid
because I want to
tell you, say:
you could have been
the best thing here,
you could have been
something special.
You are the cat's pajamas and
the core of my heart and
the sleep in my eyes
and the scars on my thighs
and I will not cover
you up, no; I will send you
all of my love; no, I will
fly to you on chimerical wings
because you deserve only
fantastical things.