love in the corners of your mind

you will never really

know if she loves you

and that is the precipice

from which you must

continually jump

watch me nervous in

the elevator. i have 

two pairs of pants and

she has seen them both.

the floor rises to meet

my feet. i smell the warm

croissants in the bag,

the tautness of the twine

hanging rough against

the pits of my knuckles.

watch my heartbeat

forget my age.

& then the bedroom

i wrote so much about

this & now i’m nervous,

fidgety fingers glide

across your arm clad in

bulky sweater, & i ask

so many questions: “what

do you like? how long?

where? with what? can

you? did you? did i?”

i’m a kid standing in

the hallway. have you

sussed out these damned

feelings yet? what is this

pit that balloons when

you think of women?

the connection. it’s not

there. it is a one way

street. it is a failure to

communicate. i wish i

could implore you like

in the movies. how much

i wish to fall, feather-like,

into your mind’s eye.

we drink rose in the hot tub.

we forget how young we are.

we are smooth skin and no


we would retch platitudes if

only our fingers reached that

far back in our throats.

i would lasso the moon if it

wasn’t already a thing jimmy

stewart did. i would lasso

two moons. i would find more

moons. start a moon farm.

i am at your bedside.

we are auditing this relationship.

& then, suddenly, like a brilliant

blue neutron star, so dense &

spinning wildly, i am cresting the

wildest ocean, so fresh & fishlike.

the air spins around me in all

directions. i am smiling, laughing,

sad, staring, angry, it’s all wrecked

my insides. what is this turbulence?

when is the sunny day where we

sip hot coffee on the porch couch?

entropy is forgetfulness.

all chemical reactions become the same.

i forget what you look like, my

palm against your warm cheek.

there is a spot where body resides

in my mind. it is your body, it is

her body. they fill this niche that i

succumb to, every time. and sometimes,

eject like the last shell of an M1 garand.

a little ping. a reminder that i am empty.

but then … you know.

sunshine. birds. white.

the bluest blue. you twirl

in a radiant sundress

as you scamper across the

grass. yes. this is what it is.

i find it and i tie all my

synapses to it. clamp it down.

stay here, icarus. don’t let

it go. hope she’s

tied it down too.