Some days you wake up and life is a fire racing for your skin,

incinerating you from within,

and some days  it is only a pinprick star of light,

alone in the vastness of a distant, empty sky,

and on those days

no amount of screaming will bring it down to fill you.

I got the car stuck on the ice

driving past his old place

with you after we danced

because I was so broken

and I was so cruel

and so oblivious

to it all,

lost in my pain.

dearest william,

You sat down at the table

against mine in the café,

joining some acquaintances

and pretending not to notice

(Come on, how could you not?

I could smell your warmth

and feel your eyes)

while I read and listened.


You tried to impress them(: me)

by reciting some lines of Pound,

and they were mesmerized

by your sharp mind and those

deep blue eyes shelved above

that ridiculous, cocky grin;

I remained visibly nonplussed

when you turned to check,


but maybe I should have

told you then the surprise it was

to hear my favorite poem

alive on your lips

and given you the approval which,

withheld, you craved so deeply.


You were in my dreams last night,

and I kissed you, slowly.