junes.

the screaming heart torture-love/obsession
of firsts
raw and alive and too young to be taken seriously
love is purest when you're less pure than a child
but the world hasn't blurried you yet
i wish
i could have given you
the butterflied self-concious shyness
but i am now far too old.

i envy my sister
and her blushes over finger brushes
and how one word makes her spin
and feel
beautiful

i miss feeling beautiful

i miss the shivering praise of previously hidden skin
and june wind
and cats pouncing sheets, distracting the
loneliness i felt at all times
that you never once knew.

16, and to think i was so rude a roman
to try and knock caesar
from the throne he'd won on beginner's luck

i've never been marc antony; i was born to kneel.

and i kneel now, to the past
in reverance of it's glossy pain
and write more softly in the comfort
of having something more concrete to
believe in
than the ghost of a muse

but still, how the poetic chaos held me.

my then&now.

i'm all for returning

to those

halcyon rolled-up jeans mornings

mingled breath like dew and tea

flooding my feet while birds walk---why walk when you can fly, you're just teasing now----

with freckled eyes

i want to lick you and let the river lick me,

armchairs in icewater

we are languid and blossoming, can you see this in

a month?

2?

try 7.

the newness these old memories stir up,

butterflies! beneath trees sprouting spring branches

like liquid green puzzles distorted through my finger shading

toestoes, and breathy touching

then

to our lessons, in an hour, asleep at the wheel

penniless

with only sand and bedhead to show for our efforts

our mouths

they were jittered ghosts
and sometimes

i miss the prettiness of that

but the now....the now is love-drenched in sun-colors.
you're my big sur.

isn't it? it isn't.

this is barely a bed, just a temporary trap between whisper-thin walls
where we sleep and fuck and i cry and you snore lightly, unaware
fingers limply draped in lonely posession of what
and when i wake up there's always something missing
so i just bury deeper.

the conversation was too dark for my eyes
i'm just placeholding.

the walks were longer today, the air was static
and love was less than all of that
you carve the kindness out of me until i am hollow
and forget to rip the pages off the calendar
and so the rut is born

we kiss and you say you love me
and i shut my eyes and hold my breath
because to know me is to leave me
and then where would i live?

i nurse the baby and shake the piggy bank
there's only pennies for the future.