so i will write for you

2003-09-01, 7:32 p.m.

there are things the hands and lips can say which words cannot. i write on your skin with invisible ink, a sliding finger to let myself know you are tangible, indescribable, beautiful. laying within arms that creep around my side, i cling because the darker sides of a circle could make me smile too, i could see the darkest sides with your eyes; lit to a brilliant white like virginia snow. sitting alone is a reminder that we are always leaving bits of ourselves on the ground, leaves that are picked up by those who care for us. to invest considerable amounts of my foliage to you is inevitable, if only we can forget the scary thoughts brought on by the image of heartbreak, calm myself by writing sentences on your cheeks, fleeting bits of togetherness.

helping me more than you would know, like the instinctive ways of nature, picking out my weaker parts with precise movements, you dont know how it's helped. to only a few people -one person outside of my family- i feel ive been a good person, i see myself as more than a spare part to just one person. but i want to see one more person in that group, i want you to see me as more than a wrench or a tattered rag, to be of use is my dream.

a milky white glow comes from my connected pinky fingers, pushing into each other like vines trying to find a circle of green, a moonlit congregation of desert cliffs ascend from the bones. some days the thoughts are flooding the streets, breaking down the dams, egging the children to fill their galoshes in a deep puddle. those are the days that clouds gather inside you, but today is not like that, the moisture evaportes on the dreams of your skin and of your smile. sounds carry clearly through valleys, stopping to remind me that tommorow will be great as long as i see you.