I hug my pillow and do not speak a word;
In my empty room no sound stirs.
Who knows that, all day abed,
I am not ill and am not even asleep?


Turned to jade are the boy's rosy cheeks;
To his sick temples the frost of winter clings....
Do not wonder that my body sinks to decay;
Though my limbs are old, my heart is older yet.

Li Po

It's like the sky is finally falling.

I submit my heart to this:
his is all caring, all loving.
(Mine is too.)
...and to bake frost upon our windows
in the winter
in the basement
only screeches out our desire/lust/love
(oh god kiss me; kiss me please!)

I'm already upsetting you,
so just start jumping to conclusions,
saying you are definitely still mad-tired of my crying
and wondering what we're still doing here.
(Face it, boy, I have been with you and still want to be with you.)

I sell my soul Saturday morning at the garage sale by mistake;
everything was left unattended.
and shit I'm going to make some more money...
We can restart our lives (again).

I do believe shower-lovers live desperately
and cry about enough things
which should get me off the hook...
But no.

You took giving up, so I was left with moving on,
and somehow, along the way,
we managed to pick up all the pieces.
We can almost be made whole again,
if only we could find glue to make it better, stronger.

Instead we're just jamming pieces together,
the edges are rough
and wearing away at each other.
So much so that eventually the pieces will
fit back together.

I am on that search for the natural high,
trying to catch a buzz without catching an addiction...
(This is the way of the world to complain about that.)

His heart is there for me to hang on.
I wait for it every night
until tonight.
but that's not pinning it down.

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