If you wanted me to go
Uncluttered
Without suitcase or
Resentment,
I would;
Take a locomotive
To your insecurities,
Pay my own way
Blood/letting
Tickets from veins.

I am your passenger,
Tourist of your every
Journey.



To Selves

l.

She wants me
Too
Hand over
Delicate things.

I
Have a hard time
Holding this
Slippery pride,
And it has
Like favorite fabrics
Curved
to the contours
Of my being,
Yet still
Manages to
Get away.

What would she need
Such menacing material for?-

It doesn’t keep me warm,
Does not keep me company,
Will not caress
Or fill an empty night
With love.

Pride is pretty
Use/less.

Here.

ll.

What is between us
Short of
Opportunity

Have I confused a kiss
With a bridge?

Has she mystified distance
And danced armless into a dream?

Where are our hands-
We must get a grip,
Pull the seams of these
Drifting continents
And suture our world-

Why does falling in love cause death-
Are we asleep?

My I
Your I
My I
Opened.

Very nice poem.

Title suggestion---Delicate Things

I Like that

How about

"Checklist"

checklist isnt bad...still like delicate things better

Special Treasures

Useless Pride