Disillusionment is like a needle

– POP –

It pricks like a shot.

And all the air you’ve been breathing

(For the past five months,
or years)

Is bleeding
out of you

Leaving you breathless

And feeling
like a deflated balloon

From a party
nobody came to

Do you love in details?

I wonder if everyone
Loves with details

When you love do you love him
For the way the sunlight falls across the line of his chin
Or the way he knows what poetry is?
Do you love the ways his hands explain things
Or his voice says things
Or the way his eyes spark
When he’s talking about exposition?

When you love do you love her
For the paint underneath her fingernails
Or the way she mumbles things in German
Or the way she never wears mascara
Except when she been up late reading Russian short stories

And when you love do you love trees
For the way their leaves fall
And the way their chlorophyl masks their true colors
And the way their branches rattle after the ice storms
And do you love the for the scars in their bark
From love and initials and hearts?

You are my Place

You are my place.
You are my green field,
You are my coffee shop,
My room painted blue

You are my space
You are my air,
My habitation
My bed and my bedroom

In You I abide
I, a man without a country
And without a race,
Find my nationality,
My heritage,
My family,
In Your face

For You are my place.