things are happening oh god, things are happening there are things moving and murmuring and humming and buzzing like machines at night when the workers go home. we don't care about the workers, we care about us & we care about how night has sunshine too, it's just a different color. things are happening. the two-headed birds and your hands. i didn't cry when we kissed because i didn't need to and that's something isn't it? yes. it's something. cowboy boots and converse sneakers and walking and your eyes were big and lit up fireworks when you spoke and fireworks were always frightening to me as a child but i could just eat yours up. and your hands. just missing the sunrise on the crisp of the sunrise but, on the subway stuck under water, quietly. and your hands. because i know you were there and i know i was too, somehow and your hands and some stumbles but not from drugs or drinking but maybe for love and it was a beat up hotel in brooklyn with an elevator like a horror movie scene and florescent lights like warnings, but there were your hands. and when the heart fell where did it land? who picked it up? i'd say your hands but this poem is tired of them, but me, I'm not, I'm just not. and whose to say this is a poem? whose to say you aren't ? i say you are, and i kiss you are. and there are monumental moments and there are people who say "& i just knew" and i always hated them for saying but i found myself just knowing, and i should have been more afraid but your mouth tasted like how it feels to know someone for a lifetime and to love every inch of them, and your hands were helping my skin to light up and my limbs to stay intact and well, i just knew, just like that. and if the sky could talk, if the new york city sky could talk it'd say gosh, you're pretty, the pair of you, it would sing us a song, it did sing us a song, we hummed along, and if there was ever such a thing as home, i'd live inside you, with my mouth on yours and your hands. it's 3:00 in the morning and i love you.
at 3:36 PM