this is our summerremember our feet
hanging off the dock
cheesecake for breakfast
the ducks quacking for more bread
plastic, neon orange kyacks
falling into the river
the lazy afternoon in the hammock
singing love songs to each other
showing our love to each other
tracing the outline of your face
to memorize it in my dreams
when I had to go away again
walking through the zoo
like excited little five-year-olds
proudly holding your hand
lacing your fingers in mine
'what's your favorite fish?'
we just couldn't decide
stuffed puppy for you, old
fennec fox for me, new
'this is her 'friend', Kari'
'those boys better watch out'
stinging pang of irritation in my heart
for the lack of acceptance
your hand in mine
every step of the way
Cirrus BreakersSo feeling breakers
pass the edge
of a cirrus strewn and circular sky
In another summer
in another place
I have that bed on which to lie
In grass and thoughts; a fading trace
Of watching you
alone, asleep
behind an eastern air.
No ancient halls of Rome did speak
of beauty like your hair
That fell in spells and drew me down
still closer to your mouth
I keep these passing moments held
Of summers in the south
the science of usacceleration = gravitational pull / mass
You didn’t send my heartbeat into a frenzy the first time I saw you. It was a month or two before I started feeling the little palpitations inside my chest and made sure that my hand accidentally brushed against yours every now and then.
(I wanted to make sure you got used to the feeling of my atoms colliding with yours.)
I told myself it was stupid and simply physical. You weren’t pulling my heart strings, you were toying with my belt buckle by smiling at me across the room and asking me to spend time with you on a Saturday afternoon. I was sold by the time you pulled into my driveway and my name slipped from between your lips.
(Sweaty palms and twisted vocal chords told me no one said it quite like you.)
I promised myself this was strictly a one-way thing. I feigned like I felt nothing, and in my nervousness I became the witty jackass. You laughed at my barbed-wire jokes and sped through a red light while I was watching
Escape VelocityF = G(m1m2)/r2
Black – true black – is the absence of light. Darkness is defined by what it is not, by the lack of something else. When we say a black hole, we truly mean that; black. Blacker than black. An absence of not only light, but of time, distance, anything.
The night was scary when I was little. I hated the dark, but couldn’t bear to sleep so long as the light was on, any light, burning on the other side of my eyelids. I used to have nightmares about dark things in dark corners, shadowy figures with shadowy fingers trailing along my spine. I always woke up cold and fumbling frantically for the lamp, but the aura of light just made the shadows deeper and I turned it off quickly.
F=force
Black holes are dead stars. Graves. Tombs that bury light, bury it so deep, swallow entire suns, planets, galaxies. Dead stars take all the light with them like rich men spending fortunes on alabaster monuments and marble headstones.
There are four unmarked graves
LawsYou're a son of thermodynamics, a heat engine refusing to abide by any human law.
"If two [thermodynamical] systems are separately in thermal equilibrium with a third, they are also in thermal equilibrium with each other." So obvious to be added to the Laws as an afterthought, it majestically fails with you. Sleepless, I lie awake through the nights and we never reach a balance.
And I only feel your every tiny cell hatefully pushing its exceeding Kelvins on mines,
Yet I can't break our skins' contact.
i."Energy is neither created nor destroyed."There has to be something dramatically off with you, and neither Hess my friend nor Clausius my fellow could make it fit into this law. Frowning, I used to imagine that you'd eventually give up all of your heat energy… yet your warmth never, it never dies out.
And I only have in exchange puzzled looks and (jokingly) fed-up remarks,
Yet I can't break our skins' contact.
ii."Heat can s
Soul SistersMy dear faraway-friend,
The skies are beautiful tonight. Just endless horizons as far as my eyes can see, with breathtaking white clouds against indigo heavens and stars sparkling with hidden promises.
I can't sleep. And you know me, when I can't sleep, I think. And as I ponder, far-fetched or philosophically, I usually write. Right now, my head is a maze of thoughts; they are all crawling through, passing each other but not one stands out from the crowd. Like people in the urban jungle we call home.
In contrast to my racing mind, the wind whispers softly through the leaves as I write these words. It's silent and soothing, almost like ocean waves crashing upon sandy shores. I can almost hear the gulls cry above the mighty waters, free and soaring with their feathers in flight- ready to carry them everywhere.
You know, somehow birds resemble a feeling of friendship to me. (As I read that last sentence back, I wonder if this might be the late hour talking, and not me, but I'll go on neve