the door was there, and so was she.

the fabric of reality

was torn, or maybe sewn anew,

as we did what two people do

as, lost in storms, we searched for hope,

and hung on little bits of rope,

and made such heat as we required,

going just where we desired.

i remember all of it —

the fabric torn, the perfect fit,

the warm, the wet, the time, the place,

the upturned eyes within the face,

the girl who waits, the boy who hunts,

the sound of everything

at once

Like A Book

Our laughter turned into a sort of rhythm,
Our rhythm turned into a sort of dance;
As motion filled with music filled with passion,
A double-bed became a vast expanse —

A journey that it took a while to finish,
Two pioneers upon a new-cut trail;
And she was like a book I couldn’t put down,
Except I had to read it all
By braille

Adult Thoughts from Twenty-Four Year Old Me

[From a journal I used to keep –]

… I see you every day and I dream about you – my body produces this ridiculous overabundance of sperm cells, cells I wish I could leave inside you, feeling you, tasting you – it is a madness, and obsession, it follows me everywhere and haunts my every waking moment – but I can’t make you feel it, you don’t feel it, your eyes wander elsewhere, and my whole mind goes numb with rejection – until tonight, when I’ll see you again, for even my dreams conspire against me, and you will be there, and you will give yourself to me, and I will know what I will never know what I will never know what I can never know …

That Haunted Look

She turned to me with haunted look

Atop the spires of her pain,

I took her to my house and bed

And made it snow, and sleet, and rain


Her brown hair tumbled everywhere,

As she arched back in focus pure;

I thought I’d known that haunted look,

But never could

Be sure


So long upon the path of most resistance,
No thought of you until we reached the day
We slipped into a habit of insistence;
An urgency that carried us away.

What is it that we humans do together
That makes us somehow less and somewhat more?
For sanity was there, and in good measure,
But disappeared the day we closed that door.

The things we didn’t mean were real desires,
A thousand that we never said at all:
So long upon the path of most resistance —
Until we jumped into
The waterfall