Good Night Heart

I wish I was somewhere
where I could go out at this hour
and be somewhere with people
and music and talking.


Because I am forever restless
in the early hours of the morning
when all is sleeping
but I am not sleepy.


I'll sleep when I'm dead.

Words Run on Ice

Damn it.
I want to read Whitman with you
and sleep next to your 
stupidly white-kid scrawny body,
And muss up your hairs
and call you a dweeb
because you like Star Wars.


I want to hear your life story,
because you're fascinating
yet so secretive about
these things from your past.
And I think you can tell
good stories about
these places you've been
and the wonderful things you learned.


I want to figure out how to make you
a goddamn cup of coffee
because I am inept with such things,
and I want us to cook together
and have bouts of rambunctious laughter.
I want you to make more silly, stupid jokes
and I want us to listen to music together
and I want to make you a mix cd
with all the weird songs
that remind me of you.


Maybe we could even 
like,
hold hands
or have physical contact,
though I know it isn't our style,
we don't like touchy-feely-ness.
We ought to be awesome,
together.


Because you're super rad
and I love you waaaaay more
than I think is normally allotted.


Gah.
I love you.
And I want us to do 
things together.
Wonderful things.
Simple things.
Stupid things, even.


Damn it.

Not Evident

I think I need a boy

who wants to drive around

to nowhere

and listen to music 

and not talk.

One who can read maps to me,

and will not get lost.

A human being who 

will not mind lying

in bed on Saturday mornings

and saying soft, whispered things

about anything.

A boy with soft-spoken 

ambition and a good solid heart

and the mind of an intellectual.

Someone who has the same photograph

of a relationship in mind,

a boy with dreams

and aspirations

so we may tell them to the stars

at night together.

And one who will take long walks

into oblivion streets

and the damp nighttime 

so we may simply be,

and be together.

And discuss the sights

and the sounds

and the overall view of earth

from where we are.

To be thoughtful,

most times.

To understand.

And in return 

I will listen to what he has to say, always.

I will hold him if he wants me to,

and tell him things are alright,

they will be ok.

To bake and cook for,

and laugh at his corny jokes.

I will love him,

and I will try so hard,

with my whole being,

to make him feel loved

and whole and happy.

Oh,

boy.

Yeah.

Christmastime is Here

Have yourself a merry little Christmas.

Because Christmas is love.

Full of love and hope and shiny lights

and angel-things and tinsel trees

and people you love so much it makes

you giggly and starry-eyed.

Because I have already had

one of the most lovely Christmases

of my life with my beautiful friends

who I think are my true family.

It never ceases to amaze me 

how amazing we function as

this little family prototype.

I want nothing more than

these people. My splendid

and superb family of

Lily, Marie, Jacket, Mandi, 

and Nick.

And while it really, really

doesn't feel like Christmas Eve

at all, whatsoever,

because there is no snow

and some feeling is completely absent,

I know somewhere in my heart

that it is truly Christmas because of

these people and the lovely time

we had together in front of the Christmas tree

and at my dining room table.

I know it is Christmas because

there was that intense glow of love

brighter than any tree-topper angel

or star, a heat more intense

than cozy fireplaces or familial embraces.

Because this love that is too immense

for me to describe is more

wondrous than all these things compounded.

Merry merry, Happy happy 

Christmas

Hanukkah

Kwanzaa

Saturnalia

or Festivus.

I hope you are

where it feels like Christmas,

all of you people.

perhaps there is snow,

but mostly,

I hope there is love.

Lots and lots of it.

White Christmas

But the feelings 

are all

wrong.

Step Into Christmas

And it feels all wrong.

It is too much,

and I don't understand where

Christmas went.

Because it doesn't even feel 

like December.

And it's shattering to 

hear the small children say

they can't even tell it's 

Christmastime.

And it's so saddening

to realize you

 can't 

really

 feel

 it 

either.

Here Come the Warm Jets

I love you.

And somedays

it hurts.