Notes on a meet

I think I’m in Love, I know, it’s pathetic
I haven’t slept yet, why don’t I regret it?

I’m scared that sleep will set her free.
I want to keep her in my head,
In boxers and a monochrome T,
Or vest top? think that’s what she said.

We’ve met before, in the Eighth circle of hell.
Like clock hands will touch and then bid their farewell.

Binary stars in vapid space
We spin, gravitationally bound.
Waiting to touch, wanting to taste.
Until the heat death comes around.


You made me laugh,
your words are sharp,
Your Witt

But what I wouldn’t give to have you feed me

Light heart and Heavy Breasts
of weight unknown, a place to rest
my head swimming with thoughts of sucking.
not single but not specified.
So sharp of whit, from the not-home
of Bill Murray or Bill Bailey.
I’ll think of you, but play it cool,
while looking for you daily.