i don’t always
think about you
with soft skin
wrapped in satin sheets
nor do i always
think about you
with wide eyes
and a forgiving laugh
but i do always
think about you.
i always think about you.
sometimes i wish i could stop.
sometimes i wish i’d never stop.
sometimes i don’t know
what it is i am even thinking of
but there you are.
between each thought
between each flash
an infinite number of neuron's
firing through my brain
an endless electrical dance
and still
there you remain.

~

i saw a bee today
and thought about you.
i thought about your jeans
the ones with the bees
embroidered on the sides.
i thought about how you looked that day.
i thought about the way you smiled at me
with wide eyes peering into my soul.
i thought about how; with just a glance
you’d cut me open
everything laid out
displayed for you.
i thought about how much i’d stare
how bad i’d crave our eyes to meet
each time, longer than the last.
i thought about how with you around
the world would melt away
how time would bend between us.
i thought about you
like wet teeth on soft skin
our meetings with god
our midnight sin
i saw a bee today
and thought about you.

~

Evangeline, on the soulless night of February, I continue growing my broken wings. I remain sentimental, wasting my tears away. When I look at you, all I sense is the growing impatience that I will never be able to sit with you.

Even if I bloom with these wings and my graceful tears, I don't believe you will hear my silent pleas and whimsical, hopeful yearnings.

I am a tree with seeds of sadness buried deep in the earth. A rotting fruit of desires. I could never be as majestic as you, chère Evangeline. I am eloquently silent, with my lips tightly shut; I am a crumbling mountain, and madness slowly decapitates my light—but make it poetical.

Make my sadness profoundly graceful. Make my body arch like the slipper orchids. Make me a beautiful yet distant star, Evangeline.

I seen God
and then that’s all I could see!
Such fun he’s having indeed
Pretending that he’s suffering
Pretending that he’s poor
Pretending that he needs a state of peace and war
And so we rest upon our thrown
and dream until we turn to stone
……