Split the King for a Queen

On two twins tied together,
I can love in many positions.

But, this giant raft's a speck
Coupled with the open ocean.

For a queen, untethered,
I'd split the king, dumb with desire,

Give her half of what isn't mine,
Stretch love across the city limits.

A double once occupied the void.
A man I aided in breaking left it,

A homemade king, broken in two.
For a queen untethered, what to do?

Along for The Ride

We grew up near each other
on different streets, so we both know
different ways to the same places.
When I make turns that seem strange

take the scenic route,
you merely point it out,
a passenger in this vehicle
who rarely grabs the wheel.

Who wants to go the fastest way
all the time? Highways are efficient,
but wrong exits are interesting when
you're along for the ride.

I like where you take me,
when I'm your passenger
floating over familiar streets
that never looked so strange.

We waste our fuel on these trips,
driving fast on roundabout paths.
We could really take it slow.
Walk together instead.

Swept Away

Who are you now
but a reference point,
the north star in a faded sky,

a sunspot, a freckle.
Dots connected in our minds
really remain unrequited.

Lights left low lead
past the reconciled.
Children quiver in ecstasy,

a remembrance of the climax
that changed them from knobby kneed onlookers
to the aging populace that bore us.

Your freckles formed designs
I can’t remember. Except one that
we shared on our lips. I shaved it off.

It swelled. Now, it’s hardly there,
and I miss it
because I thought it distinguished

me from the others,
like it did you. I changed.
You became a point

fixed in memory
that I’ll recall while retracing
the breadcrumb constellation.

In my mind, I formed a path.
In yours, a mess. I’m easily
swept away.

Almost

Thank God for you,
because I learned the meaning
through you.
I almost didn't need
because I had you.

To know true love
is to receive the gift.
But givers take away.
And the given get pissed.
The guidelines for what
no one understands

exist. But the answer
remains a mystery.
We're His eyes that
can't see through the mist.
She's the treat
you must have missed.

Homemade King

I lie in a bed that I made
by pushing two twins together
to form a king. I wait
for her to fill the other half.
Sometimes I sleep
on her side. If not, the sofa
swallows me up. In that place
I can hear his rumbling snores.
From a distance they form
comfortable repetition like waves
in an angry sea smacking against a dock.
My backbone aches when I sleep there,
away from my homemade king,
too many nights in a row.
Too many sleepless nights
away from her. I begin to wonder
if I have one.

Stranger Angel

A man on the bus reminded me why
we run from wisdom we can't see.
I couldn't convince him that I believed
neither one of us completely understood
love in its current form. So we reasoned
through the logistics of selling cold air to
people in warm places. Packaging, we agreed
was the crucial element for selling nothing.
I appeared his negative image, with a sun tan,
but I'd be purple, like a people-eater, I thought,
before I understood love. I turned red,

thought he might convince me to
travel the world with him;
but, at the next stop he disappeared

into a crowd in Center City.

Forgotten Sense

The majority forgot,
upon his eternal rest,
the man who said it best,
his hippie nonsense.

Yet, a few do recall
the message that he left,
high upon his grave,
spray painted love over his name.

on repeat

one day i saw a friend played a song 96 times in a row. i didn't understand it at the time.