It's The Belief, Not The Words, That

It Feels Like We’ve Stepped Outside Of Time. Even Though There Is No Such Place.

I Kiss Her And She Finds The Light Switch And Turns It Off, And We're Just Lit In Pepsi-can Colors And It's Like We've Finally Found This Other Kind Of Conversation, This Conversation In Gestures And Pulls And Pushes And Breaths And Grasps And Teases And Glimmers And Rubs And Expectation.

But I Guess You Don't See The Planets When You're Staring At The Sun. You Just Get Blinded.

Some Days Are Like This. And The Only Way To Get Through Them Is To Remember That They Are Only One Day, And That Every Day Ends.

Fraught, Adj. Does Every “i Love You” Deserve An “i Love You Too”? Does Every Kiss Deserve A Kiss Back? Does Every Night Deserve To Be Spent On A Lover? If The Answer To Any Of These Is “no,” What Do We Do?