juvenilia

Kitchen appliances hum softly,

logs shift in the stove, an uneasy chorus.

The shower sings too, softly, faintly.

I wish you and I were tangled together

in this inky night.

All of the others would cease to exist,

even the body dancing under the cascade of water,

the body which may or may not have been invited in.

The fire flares up, burns with an indescribable vibrancy.

I can almost see your face close to mine,

lit up by the flickering of the flames,

a shadowdance with all the intricate details of you.

Liplocked, bedlocked, lovelocked.

I have never wanted anything so much

as I want this profound happiness with you.

Even here, alone in this dingy room, I feel it,

the shapes it creates in the staleness of the air,

the near-tangible texture that it holds.

me & the bard

the bard's words don't move me

because he is beyond this world, this world

to which i belong.

"translate this! and that!"

no thank you, i refuse to shout from rafters, only

to have them correct me time and time again.

we pick apart ideas, searching for truths

beneath what appear to be lies and a great loss of

something that may or may not resemble integrity.

the bard wanted love in every sense of the word

but he never quite grasped all of it at once, even when

his name fell from tongues in shining globs of wonder.

i quote thee, "to be or not to be,"

and this is what i would ask of you in a midsummer night's dream:

with so much and so little at stake, how am i to decide?