Apostrophe For Ari

The day is cold but the breeze is warm,
I’m not real sure what it means.

I hope its hyperbolic metaphor has nothing to do with my decree
because lately it’s been all about me me me.

Well that’s a lie because I would do anything for you to see

I am right here.

And this is where I’ve been since the moment I saw you walk down the steep stairs onto the sticky floor to the piece of real-estate you took up against the wall by the bar which was nothing more than an orange cooler and boxes of cheap beer purchased with a fake ID by the boys who just want to be liked by the girls who want to fake nice.

I am right here.

I’m not five miles west following the compass of my fear and I’m not walking backwards looking for the door.

I am right here.

Are you coward enough to fake another smile just so you can graffiti your name on the stone wall enclosing the castle where love hides in the furthest corner of the tallest tower in the house maze surrounded by moats and swooping birds and dragons- breathing not fire but- spewing hot lava at every fool who tries to enter with any ounce of ignorance or spite or any other bull shit motive that’s anything but nice.

I am right here.

Well my dear, love is hiding out on the eighteenth story of its own book, written by the hand of those who figured out how to fly without the help of red bull or wings or pulley machines in order to climb the nonexistent stairs, just to stare into the eyes of someone they care about more than themselves; more than the stars that make the gold that they wear on their finger on the day they wed; more than the ground or the gravity that keeps them there; more than the God that granted the blessing and the static cling that holds it all together.

To get her.
To get her.

Oh, hold it all together, this time it’s all on you. This is your moment at the end of the movie.

Who’s it gonna be?

I am taking a figurative and controversial constitutional walk into your heart- the heart of someone else’s girl- and once I am in, I am standing my ground and hoping my eyes- which say more than my lips and over used pen can ever conceive- can make you believe in everything we can be.

I am right here.

Who’s it gonna be?

Well, honey, this is your apostrophe in advance because I have a feeling you’re leaving me. I’ve been singing requiems in my sleep but all my dreams are of you and me. I’m not real sure what it means and that’s a lie. And it’s selfish, I know, but I just want you to lie with me me me.

I am standing on your welcome mat until you give me a key and invite me in or tell me to seek out affection elsewhere.

I am right here.

Until you tell me what to do. Or until I just can’t take it anymore.

It’s selfish, I know, but I just want you to lie with me me me. Please don’t give me notice to leave.

Oh, Ari, this is your apostrophe.

I’ve been singing requiems in my sleep.

Right Here

I am right here.

And this is where I’ve been since the moment I saw you walk down the steep stairs onto the sticky floor to the piece of real-estate you took up against the wall by the bar which was nothing more than an orange cooler and boxes of cheap beer purchased with a fake ID by the boys who just want to be liked by the girls who want to fake nice.

I am right here.

I’m not five miles west following the compass of my fear and I’m not walking backwards looking for the door.

I am here.
I am right here.

I am taking a figurative and controversial constitutional walk into your heart- the heart of someone else’s girl- and once I am in, I am standing my ground and hoping my eyes- which say more than my lips and over used pen can ever conceive- can make you believe in everything we can be.

I am right here.

I am standing on your welcome mat until you give me a key and invite me in or tell me to seek out affection elsewhere.

I am right here.

Until you tell me what to do.
Or until I just can’t take it anymore.

You Are My Phantom Limb

There are miles and miles and mountains of space and empty pain between us
yet I feel you as if you are still attached to my heart and my mind.
Your arm is attached to some other girls shoulder, neck and spine
and I don’t know why I try to remain apart of your life
when I’ve clearly become just a footnote, a number on you list of mistakes or the amount of hearts you break or just part of the collection of virginities you take.
Yes, I am just one of the many
but don’t you see,
one day I will be impervious to your tricks
and guess what,
so will she.
So start the charade
do all you can to make her fall in love with you
then remove the mask you wear so well and see if she can still bear to look at you.

The way you are currently has changed my view of the past
because your currents have an undertow designed to drown me beneath the sea of your lies
but I see past your promises
and I am currently guaranteed a new tide
one that better fits my shore line
rising and falling like the belly on my celestial body
silhouetted by our visceral sun setting eternally

Maybe

Maybe in editorial I am some sort of completed mosaic masterpiece.
Maybe in the middle of the night, I am more than just a mare.
Maybe I become the moonlight in your window,
the shadow patterns on your sleeping face made by the drawn blinds beside your bed.
Maybe I am the face you see, but do not recognize in the dreams you vaguely recall upon waking.
Maybe I am the morning that makes you feel brand new.
Maybe I am.
Maybe I am hope, shot into orbit but lacking a map and the motivation to spin.
Maybe I am hail, recycled and frozen; falling fast and heavy making the vulnerable people take cover beneath subway grates and flimsy newspaper sheets, leaving marks on all those daring enough to brave me when all I want is to feel grounded again.
Maybe I am your scar, your disease, your sore, your boil, your callus, your blister, your ache.
or Maybe I am the smile on your face, the calming thought bringing you to sleep, the words on your page.
Maybe I am.

Reading Lips

It’s been a month to the day since I’ve met you
since my lips touch your hands
and my hands touched your hips
setting off a gravitational force
much like the one that keeps the planets aligned.
And from that moment, thoughts of you have circled my mind
speeding up my rational progression,
giving parts of my broken heart, to you.

I’ve formulated a sound argument
for why we should be together
so come closer and I’ll whisper it in your ear.

I keep one eye on my heart
and one on the road.
I drive fast and fearless
but only to cover up the fact that my knuckles are white
from gripping the wheel so tight.
I laugh and smile to create a veil
but the truth is simple
I am desperately afraid to fail.

And yet, the more air I share with you
the more I want to loosen my grip
and learn how to live.

I want to make a point
not to remember how I’ve let fear bully me around,
whisper incessantly to the passing wind
speaking incantations in hopes of finding a way to begin again.

So baby, read my lips as if they are an open book
that you have been dying to read
Read my lips with yours
do you feel what I’m trying to say?
Look at me with your luminous eyes.
Your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open.
Who do you see?

In The Wake Of Winter

I go to the places we’ve been
to formulate a picture of you in my head.
Always searching for all the ways to draw you
or color you in technicolor
just to attempt to capture all you have to offer.

I want to draw you closer to me.

Eyes like yours pull me away from my past
and your lips have me contemplating osculation
because I want to do it again
I want to do it again
do it again.
Can I do it again?

Push the hair from your sleeping eyes
lose circulation in my leg
from having yours on top if mine.
Fall asleep to city lights
wake to a cool March sun
crooning to the freckles
on your flawless body.

Not even heaven has a better view
of the potential of me and you.
Since the day I met you
my feet haven’t touched the ground.
Our songs have yet to be set to sound,
so let us lay down our soundtrack once and for all.
I’ll provide the hidden song
if you would set the subliminal messages.

Iris you would play the song
I last kissed you to.
The kiss that made me want to give up forever
because in the wake of winter
I’m leaving cold love behind.
It’s the wake of winter
and the Sun of Sunday is shinning on.