the first time we kissed
i remember it well
simply for the irony of it
sweet on the lips and tongue
softer than I thought it would be
he tasted like oranges
which i remember made me smile
since he is from florida.

soft lips
pressed together
supple tongues
delicately
tasting the presence
of another
and i wonder
for a moment
why strangers taste
the way they do
cheap wine and chocolates
beer and cigarettes
that cinnamon gum
and i wonder what you would taste like
if our tongues should touch
sweet
or daring
i imagine
a sort of comfort food
warm and welcoming
something
you could not bear
to taste only once.

soft lips
pressed together
supple tongues
delicately
tasting the presence
of another
and i wonder
for a moment
why strangers taste
the way they do
cheap wine and chocolates
beer and cigarettes
that cinnamon gum
and i wonder what you would taste like
if our tongues should touch
sweet
or daring
i imagine
a sort of comfort food
warm and welcoming
something
you could not bear
to taste only once.

you are more like
a ghost story
than a reality
to me
i know only
the bits and pieces
of you
a random smile
a hearty laugh
an article of clothing
the basic details
for local lore
yet in some way
as odd as it may seem
i feel as if
i know you more
than the boy
of flesh and blood
i touch his skin
and kiss his lips
soft or hard
and i feel
the synapses fire
and the nerves
electrify my body
and i embrace the reality of that
but I cant help but wonder
what you would taste like
if our tongues
should touch
some fraction of time
and some fraction of emotion
are yours
rocking back and forth
in my head
wondering
how you feel
to the touch
and taste
what flavors
signify
or simplify you
wondering why my mind
wages this competiton
between you and him
wondering why it matters
at all
after all
you are a ghost story
not even real to me
just there to make
the hairs on the back of my neck
stand at attention
that cold chill
that crosses
the small of my back
or the nape of my neck
at the absolute hottest moments
or inopportune times
and i keep asking myself
this question
and as often as i ask it
i seek the answer
with vigor
if you are only a ghost story
constantly haunting me
invading my thoughts
and tempting my skin
taking form in others
if you are only a ghost story
why do you feel so real?

i miss you
today
like every day
i can feel you sometimes
right behind me
and i turn
but you're not there
you would be unhappy with me
now
the way i am
seeing the things i do
the things i have done
the things that mean something to me
the boy
the sex
the drinks
the drugs
and the sheer enjoyment i get from it
how it makes me happy
happier than i have been in a long time
how i crave it
this new life i have built for myself
a house of cards
carefully balanced
briliant
and beautiful
and just waiting to fall

words
i am usually good with words
but today
last night
this morning
that changed
i cannot think
of the right words
enough words
to envelope
the sheer magnitude of you
to explain the many facets of you
to someone else
a stranger
or even someone
who swears they know you better than I do
but who does not see you as i do
i havent the words
i would leave something out
some necessary adjective
and i realize
the writer inside of me
dies a little
as i realize
that there are times
and there are people
for whom no words
will ever be enough