lycanthrope if i could muster any eloquence,
i'd squander it on her, pretty recklessly,
there'd be nothing left to file me in with the sophists or for coutroom theatrics. i'd line up like a sucker at a carnival to her pt barnum grin,
and hope to find a kiss behind door number three.

everything i've said thus far, even words like thus, have yet to match my understanding enough...i'm thinking tell her the fantastic so that here is there, but all i come up with is amaze at some story like...they're sending nsync into space.

so it hasn't matched up enough yet for a green light, for me to unveil my true dedication.

I practice on lesser the mirror, a video game on pause in a seductive position, the drunk on the corner, a crazy girl in another zip code.

in their anger, both will destroy me. they'll probably preserve in their vengeful fantasies and revisions me as the mealy mouthed seedling of a hero, like how goofus sometimes looks like gallant.

the local made universal.

i guess a heart too easily moved, no matter how earnest should be tempered, or else i'll cry when a commercial ends and the buying begins.

a heart beginning should really be forced through the rigors of actuality, falter under the weight of single truth and realizing this truth does not exist, beat to the strongest rhythm it can find.

how can i write her poetry when i haven't quite retired sober faced as a joke on a lark Romeo?

How, when i still write odes to the sun, and wait for response?

How do i balance the infinite and exact in her body? how using these recycled words changing in painfully slow and awkward permutations?

when does what i've made of what i've felt become relevant?

does it ever? is it not enough to answer her with my silent mouth? what good would it do for the world to hear her kiss?

what good would it do to distract the world with a more perfect longing?

all these attempts have set me longing. what dimension do words sprung from kisses go to? what lesser plane?

and yet who wouldn't ask for a chance to touch indirectly even through the horror of me three times over the awe and reverence that i swear though i cannot prove it philisophically as of yet, starts in her body and words and laughter?

she holds my hand and makes me feel like i simply cannot get it wrong. i don't know whether to be alarmed or at ease.

i think i'll stick with the fake confidence, after all, look at all it's brought me!
lycanthrope okay, that was more about me, it sometimes is...but that was just a warmup, a poetic exercise like this site and all who inhabit comes the link to the real world though, i mean certainly the most sturdy one.

her touch is hesitantly eager,
learning, but masterful in its approach.
modern sensibilities,
grounded in earth,
and taste and touch.

her dreams are distractions from the intense presence of her body, her instant mind, puns are thrown off with centripetal force,
her qoutable words though are witheld
untill momentum releases them,
her standards and thresholds high,
the word changes with the perspective. but why is so less important than how sometimes.

her curiosity then is eager, her jokes sudden, everywhere, grounded in curiosity like her touch.
her words are poetry, earned, like her dreams.

she becomes me,
exceeds me,
and needs me.

and on terms we share the chaos of.

is it a contrivance for you to be the vague she of every book of poetry?

should i leave it alone, and enjoy you on the level all enjoy me?

it's win win.
squint oh... there.
(post nirvana expression.)

unhinged hushed
we walked up and down our alley
but only twice
in the many trips up and down
did we ever run into anything
that could have incriminated us
somehow i think it was expected
and in my mind
the events of us
echo in my head
the kisses i placed on your lips to
wipe away the tears
we were bound together
more closely than i have ever
been tied up in another person
of all the people in the world
we know exactly the difference in
loving someone
and being in love with someone
under my breath
i mumbled
hushed expressions of love
hoping that thousands of miles away
you could hear them
pushpins lose_lose 020729
what's it to you?
who go