paper and ink and words and heart

i’ve been writing you love letters since the day we met. some i send, others are these. and then there are those hidden away, i told you i’d let you read them one day. 

there’s one in my car. its date, may 14. wrapped in brown paper, your name your address scrawled across its the front.
a heart.
a stamp.
air mail.
within its folds is so much loving cursive – i lost my mind, my self, my heart in the writing of it.
invisible kisses for you.

from so far, i inch nearer.

i’ll write you love letters everyday,
it’s my way
to find
my way back to you.

so soon, i’ll be there so soon.

but it feels like rain

i burn and i shiver and it’s you.
in trembling hands and lips and skin it’s you.
i walk into the fire (you you you) and i burn and i shiver and i move
with you.
burning for you
walking through
i’m burning i’m on fire i’m all heat and heart and yearning. and yeses too far apart
i’m burning i’m breathing
but there’s no air.
even in your heat i still breathe.

but it’s different. it’s more. 

i surrender

it’s your love
that keeps me so desperately alive.

sweet melodies

i listen to your voice,
it plays soft,
from the video you sent
i fidget and i write and i dream of you before dreaming of you.
do you think a heart has ever burst
from loving so hard?
let’s just wait
and see.


drown in dreary darkness
in a hopeless distant wonder
of a time and place with nothing but the sound
of all that’s pure and pleasant.
like the wind.
like sunlight.
like whispering you love me against my lips into my open mouth as we kiss
drown in breaths so shallow, so gasping and so urgent.
drown in the emotion that both murders and revives
that both swears and sighs
that casts and reels
hides and reveals.
drown in all the loneliness, the emptiness, the suffering.
drown in the mystery and blue of my vast unending sea.
and i’ll float up your veins
and drown
in your thick red blood, love-stained

it won’t be long before we’re a saturated mix of
salty water bloodied love.

so happy to drown.
so happy to drown.


i stay in bed a little too long
wiping sleep from the corners of my tired
i yawn.
and stretch and feel the sheets they cling to my sweaty skin. just the tiniest bit to remind me i am here, today. and it’s a different kind of warm,
i am here.

every morning brings me closer to another morning wrapped in sheets in your arms in bed, waking with a smile next to you.

we’ll always stay too long,
we’ll never stay quite long enough.

“i know you’re tired but come, this is the way.” – rumi

and i feel like myself, a little more a little more. as each minute passes. as light fades to turn the sky to the darkest blue and black.
i’ve been waiting all day to escape to the coma of a dream-filled night 
as the sun and the warmth have done nothing but mock the numb and the burnt and the broken. 
i feel like myself a little more and more than that.
but that’s all.

aloha pt. ii

i still think about telling you how much i despise our guarded and sorry, vanilla goodbye.
all because i didn’t want you seeing me cry.

[as i took that first step from your side, a piece of me stayed in your pockets, on your lips, in the space between your fingers and mine.]

my darling, my darling,
don’t worry,
those tears, they came, but they weren’t so bad. they were for the letting go of something that now belongs to you –
it’s not mine anymore, but maybe, instead, forever yours.
so be gentle, my love, it’s made of our memories, of the prettiest parts of all of this.
my love, be gentle and whisper,
it’s softness that’ll be
the undoing of me
of the guarding and the worrying,
of the everything.