Say the things.

stagnant, sediment
periodic sedentary slip
I get what you’re saying
when you use the right words
and say the things
that make sense
if you use past tense
I don’t listen
I don’t understand
It’s not about upper-hand
or who’s wrong
we could talk and talk
and say things, and
use big words. But
will it ever make sense?

Written Thursday, November 1st, 2012 ~1:20am @ Smith with Luke.


Say the things.



Glittered in flirty.

Over-hearing dates. First dates. are obvious. The fidgeting. The extra diaphragm push when (s)he laughs. The extra laughs between not-so-funny things (s)he says. Because it’s cute. To laugh. You’re more attractive with sparkle. With those ruddy-blushed cheeks. bundled up to your peepers. Glittered in flirty.

Written Wednesday, December 19th, 2012 @ Smith.
Edited Saturday, January 19th & Sunday, March 24th, 2013 @ Smith.


Photo taken Sunday, September 23rd, 2012. Georgetown.

My mouth. your ear.

I could tell you what I’m feeling
but the words from my mouth to your ear
will morph mid-flight between the two
and I won’t know what you’ll hear.

Written Tuesday, January 31st, 2012 @ Joe Bar with Jake.


Photo taken Sunday, July 22nd, 2012 @ the Capitol Hill Block Party.


how many things have you said. and to how many people. how many things have you said that were misunderstood. how many things have you said and to how many people that were misunderstood. and you never knew. both of you. you never knew.

how many things have you heard. and from how many people. how many things have you heard and from how many people that you misunderstood. and you never knew.

both of you. never knew.




just a few (days)  (ago)
I waited for you – here.  Behind the bar.
And when you arrived.
hands on knees, knees on hands.
behind the bar, the bar.
No one knew
about our steadied meeting eyes.
Those moments. shared moments.
So few, so few.


Written Thursday, September 13th, 2012 @ Smith with Michael & Bosco.


Pink goo.


Until the next eyes
that make my body die
and melt into
a marshmallow fluff of pink goo.
Until my next sigh
when your nose and chin are close enough to smell
moments before possibility,
the first press of new lips.
– skin on skin on skin on skin –

What exhales outside our atmosphere
does. not. matter.
does. not. exist.

a kiss on the forehead – erases memory.


Written Tuesday, September 11th, 2012 @ Joe Bar with Jake.



“Pink goo” was inspired by a line from Marina Tsvetaeva‘s poem, “A kiss on the forehead”.  (1917)

A kiss on the forehead—erases misery.

I kiss your forehead.
A kiss on the eyes—lifts sleeplessness.

I kiss your eyes.
A kiss on the lips—is a drink of water.

I kiss your lips.
A kiss on the forehead—erases memory.


(To read other poems I’ve written that germinated from poetry prompts, search for “poetryprompt” in the search box on the right.)