Space

I wrote this more with the intention of spoken word but I thought I would post it anyways. 

I said if you broke my heart

you would revive my pen

so here I am writing 

about Saturday night

and how all I could think 

of were the ways 

I am to blame for this space 

between us. Maybe distance 

isn't the reason for this divide. 

Maybe time zones 

are not the cause for

"could have beens"

going awry.

Perhaps each time the sun

has set earlier for you

your desire fades a bit too. 

And perhaps I keep waiting

for us to be in the light

when it will never be the same

shining as that spring fling

when I sat on your couch 

and the rays peaked through

the space in your blackout blinds

and in that moment 

we both wanted the same thing. 

I said if you broke my heart

you would revive my pen

but I never wanted 

to write about you.

Even between all the miles 

I cannot clear enough space

in my head

to comprehend the chemistry 

that resulted in a combustion. 

You are the only someone

I have made some sense to. 

We said we wouldn't fight

the inevitable gap. 

But all I know 

is that even if there 

was an ocean between us 

there's an even bigger sea

between me and everyone else.

Couches

A couch would save
me when I kept falling
from balconies
in childhood dreams.

Your couch saved me
when I kept falling
from insecurities
in adulthood realities.

Do not move me
from these cushions.
You have moved me
enough.

How is it possible
to fall so precisely
into comfort
and next to relief?

Magnet Poetry #5

Comfortable

This is the part before I post the poem where I write a disclaimer to say that it's a creative piece and not necessarily how I feel.... just in case someone reads this.

You make me consider
the big and skinny hands
on my watch
which has become
attached
to my wrist.
I'm always checking
for you
in the places
we would belong
if we called
the same city home.
But this rose city
has withered
a bit and I'm rising
to the idea that I belong
in places where I am
most myself.
As I recall
your couch
and Boston Bruins
fleece were rather
comfortable.

Muse

I have already tried 

to write your poetry

almost as if I already held 

and released the hope of an us. 

Except maybe this time there was

            maybe even is

                               us. 

But it begs the question

When do you become my muse?

If you break my heart

you'll revive my pen 

but I have never considered 

writing less than now. 

New

I have found myself

drinking a new wine,

watching hockey, 

and ordering in. 

You are the summer 

season that will pass. 

You are something new

but new things don't last.