I like to be silly and fun and young with you, hey I’m 16 and you know what that means!

A bean bag chair in my room those hot wet kisses while my mother is out, the first sneaking through the windows of morning to touch that center where it hurts, like strawberry fields, like that strawberry scent you used to wear when the musk of our own flesh was enough to cut the sweetness of our childhood dreams.

3AM and the buzz of overhead wires in the woods. We tried like mad men to reach the stars climbing those metal ladders on the rusty electricity of time,

falling into that open

that love

Those vast desert roads of dry, the chain link fences winded with beer cans and the wicker death of plant life replicating on the edge of it all,

Hoping for a rain

Drenching something after us.

Yes I am the on the edge

Can you fly?

There is an opening

In the white ceiling

Of a lonely house in a desert canyon

Do you see it?

Evaporate into tears

Of wishes

And embrace the harsh and the awkward

All the unloved stones of grey

illuminated
where my fingers explore
the pink, the tropical moist
that intoxication of soft sea life jungle
flower scent rising
a rising tide washing away
the wheels within the wheels within the wheels
turning over and over again
to face me
where all our worlds whirl into white hot stars