Someday I want to live in a house with a library that I have built
and shelved with all the books that I’ve lost myself in over the years.
I want to curl up with a hot cup of tea, surrounded by all the different
people I’ve loved and the many lives I’ve lived. The memories of
them not worn, like the ones in my head, but as clear and
detailed as ever, preserved right there on the page,
ready to be lived again.

You told me you loved me
2:00 AM
I threw off my shoes and ran outside
and it was pouring.
Everything was hot and wet and blurred,
faded orange light from the street lamps softening the black.
And my mind hummed
you, you, you

You keep tightening the screws as they come loose in your head,
worried sick that the whole thing is coming apart.

I guess I want to tell you that it’s really not so bad. That the cracks
in the seams are how the air and the sun and the rain get in.
Something could be trying to grow, if it only had the room.

You are not a broken thing that needs fixing, and your screws may be
loose but you probably look better that way.

I once heard somewhere that time reveals all, be it things or truths.
But I wonder how many secrets have snuffed out in the coffins
of the last lips that held them.
How many ruins and lost relics will lay buried in the soil,
on the day the sun swallows the Earth?

Time reveals most things, but what of the rest?

I lust for adventure, excitement. To count my breaths
along the line that divides the living from the damned.

I will find a way to gather your voice,
in buckets and bottles, in keep sake chests
Enough to fill a pool or forge an ocean

I will buoy myself in the rumble of its rhythm,
deep tones like silk across my skin
Chest up, ears sunk
The outside world a distant muffle with
nothing but the hum of your words, spilled around me