Humid

the color of angels
on rain clouds in
late summer
is slate gray,
the grasses grow dry
with the drought,
that month of passing on
to other worlds,
the air gets filled up with
humid heat of lover's eyes
and my sweaty palms
on black leather,
milk and mountain air,
please do not be any of those things.
smell sweet as before,
let me brush the skin
of those hands again, let me replay
every moment I missed
and every kiss
I could have given.

Timetrap

"Do not let us forget
that You are our
Father in Heaven..."
in that instant,
I'm fifteen
back to sitting behind the counter with
my best friend across from me, his feet
against my legs,
baggy shorts and sports bras
-cause I told you,
remember-there was never any girl
staring into his pale eyes, we grin at this world
so silly, and adult expectations
make us gag so we just giggle,
eyes open during prayers
it's not that we don't believe,  we just
have this youth,
this monster in our souls,
"You are the Creator,
and we are Your creation,"
oh, dear God,
what happened in this short time?
the boy sits alone
cause his girl is gone,
not me,
I have my head
bowed in reluctant submission,
where are you again?
sharing names but never faces-
oh shit, sorry I got confused one time but I,
I swear I'm over that now,
cause if I'm fifteen, you'd be-hmmm,
rebelling against the world somewhere
under abbreviations which mean nothing to anyone
but me
with big torches in your eyes
like mirrors of mine
what would we feel, grinning, holding
hands on the floor, eyes open
during this prayer-but would you
fall for my immaturity or
could you love me?
what about those songs we heard last night-
will we get struck down for our
acting out, or will you
clasp me, age fifteen,
I know nothing about the world I just know
sometimes, I need your
mere humanity.

Debonair Alcohol

I pop atmosphere like pills now
curse my introversion
there are lips begging to speak yet
I have no way to open the gates
to my mind in a fog
a carbohydrate free haze of
Propel and Poe-
a strange mixture, I miss
my debonair alcohol, oh how lovely
those spring white blossoms were
before I woke up-wow,
the hangover.

The Ocean

The ocean was magnetic
that afternoon
soaking me with rain.

The ocean in a storm is almost
irresistible,
it looks like your eyes

Tossing and turning inside,
at dawn I would probably
put my hand on your shoulder

But the ocean has no limbs
it has no nerves to sense
touch or words

Yet the ocean knew my soul
and that day the sky cried
tears for me

My voice,
meant to scream into the waves
no longer knew itself

I had no anger left for those who
had hurt me
instead the ocean swallowed them

The ocean stole those bitter sounds,
and with them, myself
for a while, we were to become one,

....the ocean and I,
I would have gone away with the waves
and never returned.