clandestine walkways

i speak in silent notes
filling up this house
with the clamor of a 
bubbling fish tank
on a lonely counter top
the dribbling drone
that tastes the lonely air
whispering softly
it’ll be alright,
just 7 more days.

everything is done in reactive stages
fleeting moments that steal your attention
missing a high school football game
the friend who really wasn’t a friend at all
twisting knots in your stomach at the dinner table
even when your mother told you not to worry about it
failing a test that life will only ever present you with once
a minuscule assessment of what you learned in
AP biology or tenth grade english, college physics or..math.
the first cliche broken heart that spits on your hands
and makes you endure the rest of a rugged november alone.
but if there ever was an anything in that dark hole of everythings
that didn’t revolve around a time frame of short lived instances
that meant virtually nothing at all once those moments were up
then i would wish it to be time spent with her
the dangers of getting caught wrapped up in striped sheets
that have since faded to solid color, blurring our memory
into the threads that make your bed ours, the same new mattress
that will be old by the time we take our honeymoon
to hawaii maybe or some place that doesn’t count those
minuscule moments of our lives, a place that doesn’t put
our love for each other or our overwhelming ratio of femininity before us.
let her be the one thing that stays when all the rest falls away.

i just wanted you to know that i love you, and i’m sure of that. i feel oceans inside of me; the waves press against my ribs and lodge in my throat at the thought of your eyes, your lips, and the sweet markings that line your skin. i’ve learnt passion from you as at certain parts of the day when the lighting dims in color and the air harvests goosebumps on my shoulders, my heart moves for you. the blood that walks within my veins pumps inward and out. i close my eyes and breathe, lightly and steadily. i see us in the cold months. laying loosely in tangled sheets sewn with timorous smiles and sweet innocence. and i fall in love all over again. it is winter and we are new. the leaves have left us and the train still whispers his name in groggy sighs across the peppermint. and it is like nothing else. nothing else.

we were flying over silt and purple waves
fine lights peeking through coffee cups and metal plates
silk roads stained with tired eyes and drifting wheels
thoughtful wishes, surprise visits, tears, and nausea
i held 100 miles in my left hand
while quivering fingers and tainted cheeks
watched the digits fall away.