Last night,
understanding turned into something sweet inside my heart.
My mind let go of itself and finally put this to rest.
I slept soundly,
my eyes only open to the light of a fall morning,
to the sound of your voice while I was dreaming.

I cannot begin to think of summer,
or even winter.
I can only think of now,
of the hotness in my cheeks while I am elsewhere.

Another lover and another poem for love
for not love
for kindness
for comfort.
And then for nothing and no one
and for loneliness.

I have learned to forgive myself
and these lines are just the part of my I have tried o forget,
and the blue inside that eats and beats against my chest until I have to let go,
to give into the dangerous side of misunderstandings
and one conversation dragged into the night,
the dim hours, where honesty comes easily
and we both forget how far away our lives stand.

Tonight,
I write for you and not you.
For the idea of a night spent wrapped up in arms
away from the rest of the world,
the rest of the people we both know,
so that when I walk, the only shadow I see is myself,
the outline of your flawless face next to my shaking body.

These poems are just about the hopeless in me,
they are just about the thought of some other life
and the reflection of the sky on ice.