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Excellent condition. In dust bag barely worn. No stains or scuffs. Includes phone slot and card slots

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Wore once. In excellent condition. No rips, holes, stains.

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“So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.”

Jorge Luis Borges

Let’s begin here —at the skin. Pay attention to the story. A tale of lovers leaving port without words, with ships full of cargo, migrating from body to body, from flesh to flesh. This is a documentation of the human form: how we discover it, how we allow it to be discovered, how we love contours and knuckles and consume selfishly and sinfully - trying in vain to map out our primitive cartography without knowing what names to give the things that we love the most. This is how we discover language when we sail through it without a compass. Skin: two oceans colliding. My salt dunes. Your dimples like sand dollars. Our bodies tangled like seaweed. This is what you would find if you ran your hands over these bones in the dark and tried to turn me into braille. These are the distress signals that our bodies know before we do. Morse code. Heat rising. Our skin, flushed. This is driftwood, and this our drifting. These are my hands on your hands. These are my poems on your poems.

I Dont want to be loved, I just want to be untangled

Screw falling in love. My heart itself is already in tangles. A web of nonsense and a drawerful of necklace chains that I will never have the patience to separate. I am sounds mixed with different mediums of light. Six thousand eight hundred dialects of flesh that I don’t have enough time to translate into words. I am swearing off of love because everything inside of me is Oil and vinegar and I no longer believe that it’s morally correct to fall in love with the intent of both destroying and rebuilding another human being. I am a forest fire and an ocean, and I will burn you just as much as I will drown everything you have inside. I don’t want your sentimentality. Quit looking at me with the intent of melting me. We all know it’s working. We all know what this heart is capable of unfolding. I am not as strong as my words pretend to be. Not as quiet as these caesuras promise. This heart is a patchwork quit of people that leave different shades of blue inside of me. The drowning. Your skies.  A blue jay on a porcelain plate. For now, I am closing off these bones for someone who will know how to trace me without me ever telling them what I look like naked. The love that I’m looking for falls out of the realm of your lips and my lips and our lips doing a dance that involves bodies and more skin and your hair touching mine, gently, like two winds colliding. Screw falling in love. It’s too much to handle when I’m already having difficulties breathing and keeping tract of my heart beats and making sure my limbs are doing what they need to be doing. Because men are so beautiful.  But this heart is so fragile. I am every vulnerability that the thesaurus has to offer me and in a certain light it’s impossible for me not to pull you towards me with the intent of kissing the very life out of you. What I’m trying to say is that you are not allowed it. What I’m trying to say is all I want is to open myself up and have you rearrange me, untangle the gold chains of my heart, love me for every shade of blue that I have hidden in the silent spaces between parentheses. I have sworn off falling in love, but I know that in the morning, outside, in the pale frost of February, all I’ll want is to hold another person’s hand, warm and gloved, in their coat’s pocket.

I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there’s nothing but light when I see you. – Shinji Moon

there are poems inside of you that paper can't handle

You Will

She’s a hurricane that sweeps everything off her path. A wind so strong, it crumbles even the mightiest forts. She has something special; something unique enough to make her stand out in the midst of the sea of a thousand faces. She’s beautiful. Her beauty is the kind that mesmerises you, leaving you stunned, speechless, rooted to the spot. Through the months, you learn her tonality of her voice with different people. You learn how she can turn you on. You learn how she shuts down and deals with her problems in her own efficient way. She’s gorgeous. Striking as the medusa, her eyes will leave you stone cold; frozen in time in the moment you gaze into her emerald orbs. You will learn how her anger ripples through her skin, how her laugh will echoe straight into her heart. You will learn how when she cries, her whole body rocks with sobs. You will learn that music is her therapy, and you realise you are also her underground medicine - steady, dangerous, unpredictable.  You will learn she needs her own space, how she bides her own time to disconnect from the world. You can see her mind’s eye wandering through planes of reality, battling each battle she is presented with one by one.  You will learn the change of her eye colour. Green for calm. Cerulean blue for sad. Grey for sadness. Blue-grey for adventurous. You will see how in nature her eyes will be the brightest green and near the sea her eyes transform into the calmest and most dangerous blue. You will learn how she will kiss, softly, roughly, hungrily and those kisses will edge a gap in your very soul. You will learn to let her go each night and greet her each morning again. You will learn to miss her and deal with it with utmost dignity. You will learn how she thinks and most times, you say the same things at the same time. You will learn that she is your soulmate and that she is the love of your life.  You will experience her heartbreak and her happiness.  You will experience her heartbeat and her aches. You will experience true love with her.