the rise and fall of my lungs: so new but tainted (slightly), there is a rhythm to my practice .i wonder if you're thinking about me naked.
boss walks in and we talk about nothing. i recognize i don't try to talk when i don't feel inclined to anymore.
a new concept i'm taking naturally to.
my weeks can be evil. they start so routine.
i could predict the weather if only she behaved the same way.
but the weekends are holy. freedom lingers long. i eat bad food and kiss you often.
my moments alone are blissful, even still. i don't die without the soles of your feet against mine in bed but
maybe i do die a little.
it's nice that way. is it bad if i prefer things like that?
if i rather you near than far?
if i prefer your laughter over dry desert wind?
that is all my ears heard for a very long time.
your laugh is the second coming of christ. he was a drop out, too.
i love you and want to do boring things with you.
i love you and somehow love myself even more than before.
you have placed the cleanest mirror in front of me and
have forced me to look at who i am.
it has all been fast and facing my own face was jarring
but you showed me it. it mattered that it was you.
the pages in my journal don't get sick of my tender hand writing your name over and over
like a mantra.
what we feel for one another is a thing of it's own.
i like watching it take shape alongside you.
anything alongside you is plenty and right and supple and ripe.
one more box and the stack will topple.
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