Drilling my heart: striking eyes & batting lashes

your hair a like lines of this poem

               where I run

                                                            my mind

               fingers

strands, my heart

growing fond

thoughts

                              plait me

this heart(')s beat; this boy's in love

Zion looked at Nicholas, took a swig of his beer and said, "I don't think you understand what love is.  The beautiful part of love is being able to love someone without trying to make their body your own."

            At this point in the night both were drunk.  And both had been hit by one of the by products of drinking too much – the gentle spirited feeling of always being right, even when wrong.  With every beer came a new level of spiritual transcendence, and a new reason to keep talking.  Nicholas had been sitting across from Zion, but had now shifted over to the seat on Zion’s right.

            "But that's not it at all - that's not what I am trying to do," said Nicholas.

            "Then?"

            "See, I don't think it is an attempt at making their body your own, but just an attempt at letting them know how you feel.   Letting them know how you feel emotionally about them is important.  But letting them know how your body feels, letting them touch you and you touching them in return, you know, well, it's just an entirely different level of understanding.  I think that is the beautiful part of love."

            "Maybe, but why are you trying to hold my hand?"

Seismic beat: Sine(s, ) Waves

a notion of us

can deter-

mine waves

over and

you're under-

currents

sand a-

way steps

once taken

Architecture

Sometimes, I feel like I just need to get out of here.

I know what you mean.  I need to break

Don't know how, though.  How to leave.

I'm going to build us a story.