Meet me at the top of the mountains so we can scream like the lunatics that we are. After that we can talk poker–and even out all our dreams. We’ll buy a boat and carve poems into the ocean til our blood turns blue. Without you, I would’ve never known of my urgency. Without you, I would’ve never found so much beauty. Without you, I’d still be so sad.
Do you know how many words you are?!
One hundred and seven poems and counting. The other day at the bar we talked about what we would do if one of us died.
If you died—————————
Id be in the hospital–because I screamed so long and loud past the sky that I passed out on the way. When I woke up and I asked what happened they would tell me the truth– that the love in my life had died. My knees would be red and raw because of the way I’d be weeping– I’d keep collapsing, and collapsing, and collapsing, and collapsing, and collapsing, and collapsing
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