Sometimes I can’t say everything in one place;
forgive me for leaking varying versions of vicinity—
I can feel the universe when I imagine your laughter,
and have come to the conclusion—god is happy.

There is nothing
between us,
and it is proving
to be too much.

If truth has a formula;
it is not as simple as mathematicians would have you believe,
nor as effortless as linguists propagate,
and though numbers are but names scientifically—
crammed subjectivity: i/dent/it/y,
i/dent/if/y?

How do you chronicle the non-existent?

We are phantom-
tissue: cells and fibers.
Yet we are.

Eye have seen your invisible notebook,
I have been an invisible pen.
We are ink-filled for one another,
undetected by formalities: strang(h)ers—
locked in the ours of time.

Hearts are poetic calculators in labs behind ribcages.

I
am not objective,
you
are the object/I’ve
desired:

You think
I/n/scribe.
You read
I know.

We journal.

My left helps you write?

Very expressive man...thanks..

wonderful write

provoking in many ways

I really enjoyed this one speachhammer

what a great write