When it flows

My own words on break or on loan until winter or until I feel like it or until she shakes me again. Until something does. I'm fine if nothing does though, more fine than ever.

But, i say it knowing you're probably reading this and then thinking just how fucking fine id be if you asked me to come over. how fine I'd be even if we never really do meet. anyway, when have words really said anything about us? when are they better than staring or better than dreaming, better than waiting.

I like these conversations we have in between the lines and i guess you do too. maybe your bored. maybe you really like me. maybe you'll hear cello's or fireworks or ice cream truck chimes. maybe someday I'll shake you.

when sparkles taste like stars

Now

I told you once when we were young that
we would someday meet again.
Now, the years flow past, the letters
unwritten, I am not so certain.

It is autumn. There are toothaches hidden
in this wind, there are those determined
to bring forth winter at any cost.
I am resigned to dark blonde shadows

at stoplights, lost in the roadmaps of leaves
which point in every direction at once.
But I am wearing the shirt you stitched
two separate lifetimes ago. It is old

and falling to ash, yet every button blooms
the flowers of your design. I think of this
and I am happy, to have kissed

your mouth with the force of language,
to have spoken your name at all

by Greg Watson