Christmas.

i will
hold my
breath.

for 6 months
or
16 days
that
last 5 years.

we found
a
time machine
in
each other.

and we will
spend the future
on
opposite coasts
living
in the past of
a whirlwind
and
hopeless hope
and
shotguns
and
pocket knives
and
sprite instead of water.

Judy, knows.

Sunday Morning
moment of nature
will
lead me
back
to you.

this is not a poem.
noah.

this is
the first chapter
of
a book
you'll never read,

for it's written in a
tongue
tangled by
passions.


in
oceans under
half built
suspension bridges
and
across
nameless cities.


buried in powder
atop mountains.

i am an invisible
blur
in the
morning light
of made beds
and
a kitchen
full of
coffee grinds.

you'll lose
the keys
to your bike
and
$800
and
i'll become
a
french press.

and we'll
have moments
of power
in front of the
bathroom.
puppies
understand.

tuna fish
teeth
and
two toned
metal
hair
and
sore throats
and
iPhone alarms
and
snowboard gear
on open pages
and
fear.

sitting.
knitting.

bub.

mutual
friends
and
avalanche
wake-ups.

Joni Mitchell-A Case of You

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed"

oh, joni.

oh, oh, oh, joni.
i'm
not
prepared.