dumb

this is how it feels when I lie

with my hands.

with what I do.

with all my time.

to you.

I don't deal in

time machines.

or projecting smiles

on movie screens.

this is how it looks when I suck.

but just as icebergs,

and bruises,

and arguments,

and the little thread that lazily asks to be pulled from your sweater,

I know there's more involved than a symptom.

this is how it sounds when you sigh.

you can pull down the curtains,

and save the dusty lights,

you can forget the shows and matinees,

if we aren't feeling right.

I could care less about figuring out how to plan my day.

truly.

If I could find your head's address in that shimmering

jiminy cricket phone book, I would track down your

braindoors and leave a stack of my thoughts.

mostly about you. don't tell anyone.

well, shit, if you did, they would tell you the same message from the notes.

i've got you...

(and I hold you closer)

under my skin.

thank you.

I'm getting there.