7.17.11 – 10.34

minutes sift quietly away
carried on beams of broken sunlight
filtered through dust
through dirty glass windows

and we lay waiting
in our own mistakes, spoken,
and our reveries (unspoken)

and you might have disappeared
by now, but i would never know
i would still be here


waiting waiting waiting

7.17.11 – 9.09

even worse than the impulsive,
the sane say “stay”
even though the damage done
is irreparable
and the shadows cast
are like stains,
permanent and unyielding

all that’s left for us
is to crumble
beneath our own words

7.11.11 – 22.33

a brush of lip
against salt-stained skin
in the crevice of your shoulders
extract small spoken gasps
of half-breaths

your saltskin kisses
upon my want-reddened lips