Honey

Goodbye, Cristina.

... 

You gatecrashed into
Our monochromatic days, and
Added strokes of lemonyellow laughter
That shall belly-dance through the summer-lit streets
Of our magically realistic memories,
And recollections of your diamond tongue
Shall tint our evenings to come
With a crimson, sombrero-wearing passion.

My only regret
Are the unborn conversations
That lie still in the pregnant space between us.

Nicotine

Last night,
You spoke of cigarettes.

And I fell in love
With your ingenuous self-destruction;

The fifteen-year-old you that now exists
In tar-stained words

Spray-painted provocatively onto a sleep-deprived corner of
The walls of my brain - your words are graffiti;

...

Their beauty makes me restless.

Glass

She is
A broken shard of glass
Sharpened on the dusking sun.

She is
A cloud of foam
On the hypothalmus of my morning coffee.

She is
A leaf stolen from a tree
Of memories, that I am envious for.

She is
A sentence whispered by velvet lovers
In a veiled language I shall never understand.

She is
A dancer; alas, that
My honesty is awkward.

She is
A stone of abstraction, and I desire the
Idea of her. Abstractedly.

...

She is
Beautiful, and I hate her for it. I wish
She were discarnate. 

Immortal

We dip ourselves in the ink
Of our thoughts and words and
Emotions and deeds
And inscribe in tiny lettering
Tiny stories on our tiny corner
Of the tapestry of this infinite universe.

And minuscule though we are,
We are heroes and heroines of
Our tiny stories, and
Our accomplishments and achievements
And poetry and love affairs
Shall be sung in paeans
By every tendril of summer wind that
Blows through the dusty streets of our
Hometowns,
(The dust ground out of the slow
Grinding of the gears of Time)
And our tiny stories shall live on
In the hearts and minds of the tiny people
We love. And theirs'
Shall live on as well, in some one else's;

And thus we are immortal -
We cheat death through
These doubly linked-lists
Of love.

...

(I am Tolstoy, and

I want to be Chekhov. I am

The Self-Taught Man, and I want to be Antoine Roquentin.

I am Betsy, and I want to be Esther Greenwood.

I am milk.)