Remember the days?
The dizzy daze from riding the spiraling comets
into outer
space bar,
space bar,
space bar.
I type,
you write.
We journal
our hiccups and dry spells
and what rhymes with write?
Let’s remember the songs,
remember the night
that tasted like that red
we drank in downtown light.
You know,…
the one in the fun-shaped round bottle.

How long has it been?
Since the time we got kicked out of that concert, right?
Yes, that one.
You remember because it was the worst night
for us.
I still go to that venue…I’m actually on my way there right now
to see our favorite band.
We’ve seen them together a few times
and I had my fingers crossed
we’d see each other
You don’t live here anymore.

I heard a song the other day that you would love.
I wish I could talk
and poetry
with you
since it’s a truly magical era
for new sounds
and becoming who we are supposed to be.
You could probably edit this for me and
add in some mythological creature or
Latin word
I’ve never known.

It’s weird to think we are dreaming and
at the same time in different cities.
We don’t even talk anymore,
but if we did,
I would say something like:
“You should really come to this concert tonight!!!!! It would be like old times. Will dance for the both of us.”

I didn’t send you anything,
But sure enough,
you were there
saying something like:
“SIM, I knew you’d be here tonight.”

-wait ’till you see what I wrote on the way up here // from sometime in NOV.


we decide what we’ll do
and who we’ll do it with,
listen as I tell you:
I’ve always wanted you.

I’d wear all your blame to
taste your name

I’d bear all your shame
to feel the same


Red cherry romance
Red cherry realm
Red, I’m really ready
to ravish your realm.
I hold you by the stem
myself I overwhelm
I try not to taste
this ruby red gem:
Red gem,
Red berry,
Red blissful Cherry,
I say one thing
and mean the contrary.

So, tell me would it be a total waste,
to not divulge
in a little taste?
To not sink teeth into
Flesh I’ve known:
a flesh much sweeter
than my own
A flesh so ripe
holds nothing too new-
just a Red that is red
after a season so blue.

-the waiting game


For the last few months
lay a yellow glass lantern
broken in the corner of my bathroom.
People seem to throw away glass once it shatters.
Something, once whole,
now far too broken to piece back together-
but we don’t throw away broken people,
…unless we do?
I realize this is a faulty comparison.
What could I do with a lantern
that could no longer fulfill its purpose-
one that could no longer hold
There isn’t a chance for restoration-
Unlike a human. 
Scratch that metaphor. 
I will look at the glass as a reminder that
Things break.
Whether I decide to keep the glass or toss it,
I cannot bring it back to what it was.
I can see it, I can touch it,
I can let the shards shred my skin if I wish…
I can recognize what was 
and make room for the next lantern to come.

-I have a problem of making everything into a metaphor.


At least I mean what I say when I write.
You don’t write; you speak.
You speak rather eloquently,
But what does that mean
Since you don’t seem to mean what
You say?
I hold onto your words
That aren’t on pages
Until my pen makes each one eternal that night.
I linger and rest in the eloquence,
But we both know I shouldn’t.
For I am someone who likes words,
And you just talk so damn well.
Maybe you’re afraid you can’t interpolate your words on paper.
However, you can do that with the ones you’ve spoken;
I shouldn’t have been surprised when you did.

-After all, your spoken words were written by me.


Tell me about the comet that destroyed you:
the one you swore was a shooting star
until it came crashing, hauling towards
the inner workings of your castle:
towards your mind.
Tell me about the days you laughed at
the otters and they laughed right back at you.
Tell me about the months that seemed like minutes
because that’s how hard you loved her.
Tell me.
Not because I’m asking-
but because you want me to know you
as much as I want to know you.

-I have comets, otters, and minutes too.