chances-are

Did you want to kiss me? Your blue eyes are always casting aside While your smile lights up the room. I’m guessing you didn’t The way you made excuses But that’s all right. I’m just a girl of nothing special (Except a little self destruction on the side) And now you know Would you want to kiss me? Your knee touching my thigh through the night I felt every shake of laughter. I’m guessing you wouldn’t The way you hid under my blanket And that’s okay. I’m a little retrospective And a little bit out of order Anyway.

missing you isn't a hole in my gut or a thorn in my heart, but more like the long-lost key i miss everytime i (Absentmindedly) jiggle the lock.

When I miss you I breathe slowly – fill my small chest like I am the bellows in your six-foot frame, call to mind the length of your breaths when you sleep.      When night falls, we'll slip away and take it slow in the dark. I sit up at two in the morning, trying to catch up to the feeling of your lips on my neck as the dream slips quietly out the door like a one-night stand.      When rain falls, we'll slake our thirsts in the grass. The crook in your smile, the dark spray of your eyelashes, the rough calluses of your palms are indelible on my mind, but my skin forgets you more every day, and mourns.     When the summer ends, w

Say you catch my eye one ordinary day in January With a casual smile, a quick hello While our breath clouds On the sidewalk of our quiet street. Say we fall into conversation And it's easy, like breathing or losing track of time Say I start to know you Your favorite color, How many girls you've kissed. Maybe we'd sit under blankets On the brick wall near our houses Licking whipped cream off hot chocolate and Looking at the stars. Say you leave some daisies from your yard and A lopsided construction paper heart on my doorstep That February. Say we start to walk together into town to do my mother's errands In the spring, fi

I think sometimes you and I are like colors on a palette A swirl of forest's brown-green To match your eyes. I love you like a painter loves the colors of the sky We are a seascape romance piled high with deep strokes and light feather kisses, the curved sweep of the brush like a caress on clean, rough canvas. We love like the sea and wind. Your scarf against my cheek, a warm touch in the cold, Makes me wish I could glide into your skin like a wave onto the sand. If we were a seashore, I know the sandpipers Tip-toeing our topography Would tease out your easy smile, slow and perfect, The salty air is sweet where the blue-grey of th

I found an angel under a park bench in New York City on a rainy afternoon in May. Her wings had been ripped off and her hair dripped off her face in platinum rivulets like tears. I called her Evangeline, but of course it was not her true name.  Her true name she could not remember and was probably not in a language I was capable of speaking anyway.  Evangeline was just the name I had given her, borrowed from the poem by Longfellow that she loved to listen to while I worked at the tiny audio book store on the corner. At night when I invariably shook from withdrawal and she couldn't sleep curled into my side under my blue sheets, she would perc

Took a little bit of his heart with her That was always her specialty She knows The easiest way to break is from the inside. There are spiteful truths and the blood comes painfully easy But in the end it is always the Sweetest words and softest whispers That become our true memories, Butterflies from convoluted cocoons. Took a little bit of her heart with him Even if she didn't notice He knows Anything truly given is never rightly returned.

You always said I had a bad habit of         .Ending.    things before they began. (Truth was, your            candy-coated lies our dark        desperate             nights were always begging to be finished.)