Message 13

Everything in my head  
is warm.  
I can feel the future  
bleeding through my window,  
sunlight in winter,  
turning my brown eyes  
into the forest-hazel pair of wonders you say they are.  
Aching for a time  
when falling asleep without your snoring slumber  
will feel wrong to me  
has become a staple of my present -  
not all I am, but some of my favorite,  
most realistic parts -  
and now I can't think of one world  
I'm not on top of:  
I crown; reign  
supreme,  
at the crest of  
your dreams.  
 
I have so many beautiful thoughts  
I don't know what to do with them anymore.  
I'm running out of places to scribble them down,  
out of balconies to sing them off...  
You know  
sand on the beach? -  
faces in a city? -  
the smile that never quite  
leaves my face? -  
All the things  
that never run out...  
At the root of them all  
is you,  
 
backfilling my subconscious  
and spilling over the sides,  
breathed in, misting thin  
off my skin like shower-steam;  
all the happy things -  
all the summer scenes -  
your face, one room over;  
your voice, seconds from me;  
your body,  
already  
crashing with mine  
into sex so good  
we both doubt we're not dreaming;  
 
even now, I'm still reeling  
from the magic expressions  
your eyes and eyebrows weave together all the time,  
effortlessly,  
freely,  
certain  
and certainly terrified  
of this closeness.  
We are friends of terror by now;  
we can flirt and turn  
her smirking mouth;  
she knows...  
I'm giving everything up  
to this blatant danger,  
to you,  
clandestine  
rearranger:  
this heart,  
still mine,  
pumps to please  
my divine...  
 
When I sing about you,  
I sing the way I do  
when I'm stumble-drunk,  
bottle-sunk,  
a whiskey-monk,  
 
but these days,  
I've been drinking  
a lot less  
and sunbathing  
a lot more.