i’d like to think that early mornings are still mine
when the kitchen’s empty and the tea stopped burning the
tip of my tongue like the cigarette’s taste i’m
too embarrassed to take your mother’s name in vain with

the uneasy silence when all of your friends have left the house
right before the weight of sunrise cracks through the walls,
the nighttime closes in on you for every day and
reaching out for nothing more than stifled kisses at your door

i wonder left behind two dark-eyed courtains of morning crumbs if
someone ever was to steal that lazy smile of yours
lingering mem’ries of dreamy places should rather not be left
but lived, underneath two dozen piles of dusty pillows

i close my eyes,
‘cause anyhow or anytime
early mornings
are still mine.

I keep waking up at night just to tell my ceiling that I don’t care, but really it’s the only thing I ever do. I can never quite figure if you like the whole of me or just bits. Is it me, or the idea of me? If I told you to leave, would you do it? Because I always sometimes do and say the opposite of what I really want to, just to see if people know me at all, and we have both been bragging about how well we know each other, but for some reason I don’t.

Along my ankles you tell me like the worst of teachers to repeat the wrong lines after you, but I know for fact that you matter so much that I don’t think the world could properly function without you. And maybe, just maybe, this is all a little tiny bit too much for any living person to bear, that’s why I wouldn’t blame you if you walked right out the door anytime soon, but you can’t blame me when I can’t help carving it into my skin just about five thousand times, once for every mile inbetween us:  don’t.

Some days I just want to kiss you. Those days happen so suddenly that I almost always fall out of my bed. And I almost always, but never really do kiss you. And I keep thinking to myself, secretly,

“someday, maybe, hopefully, eventually”

But lips sewn shut, the wind never does as he’s told, and all the whispers in the world could get lost over a sea of salt. Kiss me. No, do not lie to me. Lie with me. I know you are just a ghost. Limbs made of glass, I can see right through your sleeve. And I know you cannot reach the other side, but please, please do kiss me.

One word, my love, I will keep it locked in a jar of freedom. I will look at you and your word forever, and then again in seven years, when I might come to breathe, breathe again, and think to someone but myself that:

“someday, maybe, hopefully, eventually”

And I dare say that answer will always be the same.