jkb

he is making room for me, it seems.
"i don't want to break anything" i think.
i've already knocked something over once and he quickly put it back.

he is accurate. furry and always funny.
i lose barretes in his couch cushions and wonder if his cat will ever take to me.
i wouldn't if i were her.
i'm innaccurate. if i played football i could only
run blitzes- orchestrated chaos.

he knows when it's appropriate to remove his shoes before
walking on someones carpet.
i know how to clean the heady mixture of blood, wine and
paint out of someones carpet.

but one night he stayed awake and whispered to me what he was
seeing in his mind as he drifted in and out of the edges of sleep,
knowing i was nowhere near it's paradise. postcards made of words
sent from a dream. i wish i could wrap them in a box and open them every night.
i'd never need sleeping pills again.

he speaks plainly of death but hesitates to elaborate on hurt.
i guess i do to.
maybe we lie a little since we don't discuss those broken parts.

But we're giving each other the gift of ignorance in these few moments we have left together
before we fall in love or never speak again.