i used your wet kisses
a pile of worn love notes
and the motley wavelengths of euphoria
to paint our forever,
a forever ignited by
our tangled energies that could
awaken the dawn at midnight.

in the kaleidoscopic chaos of it all,
the inconspicuous slipping of your energy
had fully dissipated at the first
breath of daybreak
and the double stitching of our fates
had been snipped.

i used the remnants of our tomorrow
memories of blurred passion
and fragments of you, of us
to paint our forever–
a watercolor.

a goodbye

your mountain-top cheekbones were all i could see;
if i swallowed your entire face: your pudgy nose, whitewater eyes,
small lips, and your mocha frappuccino skin,
i couldn’t have walked away with aspirations, professed comfort
for the next few months.

when we meet again, under growing poplar trees
we’ll love. love like there was never a goodbye,
like there never will be one. two planets dancing
in their shared, ephemeral orbit.

i walked away from you, and

my heartbeat sped faster than harley motorcycles
swerving down route 66, beside roads that
are as lonely as the moon in downtown skies.

a special place

your bed is my special place. i visit it so often that i forget that it isn’t mine. what first bothered me about it was how your thick, old blankets are crumpled against the white wall and corners. i was disgusted by how on the windowsill, which sits atop your bed, you’ve stuck pieces of gum you were too lazy to throw inside the lime-green wastebasket we purchased. i was troubled by the tangle of black cords that laid at the foot of your bed, the ones you warned me about not pushing off with my foot. why couldn’t you fix your bed when you had company over, like a normal person?

i wouldn’t have guessed that i’d come to love this bed as my own, my bed that has its blankets placed neatly over it with no creases. i didn’t think that i’d watch television shows as often as we do on your bed, on top of that white mattress, with its white stitches unraveling beneath our butts. i remember the first time we planted kisses all over our bare bodies on that mattress, and how afterwards you murmured sweet candies in my ear. you’ve held me countless times on your bed, so often that being held anywhere else isn’t the same. tickle fights, playful brawls, bursts of passion, and complex conversations have erupted on your bed.

one of my favorite memories that occurred on your bed is the first time i made you laugh especially hard. your laugh, the laugh i’ve now heard countless of times on your bed, reminds me of ernie from sesame street. that breathless, gasping for air laugh, that contagious kehehehehehehehehe… i remember tickling you and muttering nonsensical poetry in your ear. your eyes were squeezed shut, your smile was big enough to touch the corners of them. your body shook so uncontrollably i wanted to make you laugh even harder so that i knew that i was the only one who could make your body tremble the way it did.

this all happened on your bed, on that old mattress with the older sheets tucked away at its edges. so many memories are stored in between the lumps inside the mattress, where we’ve stitched our new thread over that frayed white one, and where we’ve weaved our sorrows and dreams. your bed is a haven for the both of us, a place where we are immune to the uncertainties of tomorrow because we are engulfed in the passions of today.