thank god for nice bus drivers
for window on trains
for sun-dappled benches
for rivers
for rain

for the way your voice
sounds when you
whisper
my name
and the way i glance back
with my pupils
aflame

disconnected afternoon sun

lying on the grass
my toes are in the sun
your words buzz in my ears
and i think of everything
removed from itself

i remove myself from my skin
i think of the future without
all of the shackles
the chains i cherish
it seems lighter

i rush out to catch a leaf
as you twitter in my ear constantly
(and i see your slight annoyance
but it is the sun i am enjoying
more than your company)

friendships are hard
they are malleable
and fickle
and so often one-sided

when i look up at you
i try to impart meaning in my eyes
but you just curve your back
(dark curls cascading on white skin)
look past me
and laugh

watching
the slight breath
almost imperceptible
movement

and yet
i perceive

the soft     e
             s    
         i
      r

and

  fa
     l
       l

of your back

i cannot see your closed eyelids
and i wait for the shudders
to begin
the jolting indications
that tentatively disturb the stillness
and indicate
your
drift away from
me

to sleep

relief

rushing down my arms in rivulets
pouring out of my mouth and my ears
and my eyes down to my toes

i feel a complete exhale
and relax all the muscles
i did not realize i had been tensing

the longest day of the year

in the morning
the sun stretches itself over the
day like saran wrap
curling against the edges
of glassy rimmed
time

i bought a football
because i could not bear
to make a fool of myself in front of you
though you were likely too into being the
designated punter to care
about my inconsistent throws
i always felt your eyes on me
your voice when you were near
and wanted nothing more
than to impress you
nothing more than
to make you drop your guard

is looking back
always as good
as looking forward

part of being in the now
is not regretting the past
or fearing the future

i read on the back of a kombucha
bottle in the park during
one of these
sweltering summer picnics
the ultimate source of wisdom
a glass
cylinder
lopsided on the green grass

June 21st

i feel blue

drown me in the oceans
against the sandy sea bottom
leave me
weaving seaweed in my hair
and filling the air inside conch shells
with my secrets
the last bubbles of oxygen
i can spare