Every point of you is shooting upward,
eyelashes to tonsils to toenails.
Eager ambulances, spectators like me who rise like eyebrows and neckhairs
to listen to you read me poems.
Cross-legged children, jaws in palms, fingers on cheekbones
couldn't be more excited, captivated, happier - free within your words.
You want feedback, and I am here to give but I
cannot stop taking, drinking your words, I cannot
focus I am floating I am going going going.
Your room is lit dimly, ornaments scattered about
in a way that makes everything seem slow.
As if we made this day with our hands and chose to make it simple.
There is only one confusion of the world I must communicate to you,
that there is nothing so warm and wonderful as the torment and
stomach tumbles and giddy fits that come from simply sitting in your room with you.
And wanting you so madly.
So while you watch your words, fountaining them carefully
like the monument of translation that your porcelain was meant to be
sprouting a glad mouthy grin from the center of the universe
expanding outwards from my face with each moment to indefinite proportions.
And my littleness and sunrise heart is forced to watch
as the lesser of you
gets the better of me.
removed out of respect to a certain individual
reposted out of respect to myself