I found this poem tucked into my backpack.
I wrote it long ago, in what seems now to be a very different life.
I think my mom put it in my bag when I was not watching.
I dont know though, perhaps it was just a bit of strange magic.


A curl of mathematics,
a subtle shifting between the sheets.
remember honest seconds,
together,
in bed among shafts of sunlight.
our hands fit together like
puzzling parts of Pangaea,
set adrift.
(I have well defined creases in my cheeks
when i smile. a soft wet laugh escapes my lips.)
I skip with haiku grace through a day
filled with leaps of faith and bad jokes about what
it means to be alive.
and i think, and think.
and think. and wander.
To look upon well lit clavical,
hallows that describe the importance of empty space.
nape neck curling,
like nebula smoke dancing,
enough to make my skull meat mad.
A procession of nipple thoughts,
hip dip dancing and diving
through my nervous systems.
Gesticulate violin singing in candle lit
bathtubs
filled with soapy water,
creamy white like the
exposed knees of my laughing lover.
Envelope your senses in a poem
about the movement of a million hearts around the sun.
lose yourself in someones eyes.
take a deep breath,
take a break,
take some time to yourself
and hide it away in some secret place.
let the sunlight warm your face
on winter days
and melt away the works and ways
of such a complicated bit of existence.
Hands move to lips,
gently bit in the tense moments
and so cleverly cleft in the center.
Paint some things
put it down on canvas so that it can never get away.
capture clever quips
with cunning conversation,
between shadows and falling leaves.