Okay I have 6 minutes to write a poem

I’ve been drinking

and truth be told I’m not entirely done.


your distance makes me feel warmer 

as if the way you reciprocate

every other moon

brings more brightness

to the skies claimed 

under your name.

The way you bury yourself

rather than leave me to appreciate

the nuance of air

renders all wandersome thoughts

shovels, built into my wrists

the pulse of me

calling to your subsurface 



that I might again

say, “hello,

how is your morning 

and, beyond carving

lapis out of clouds,

how might I better

the stride of your soaring?”


A Name in Blue

Give me a record breaking smile.

Teach me the ways of

dancing in the rain without

finding displeasure


the drench.


I’d like to fall for myself.

That being in my chest is certainly saying something.

If anyone could find a translator,

I’ll owe you a single, silver star.


Cradle me in the clouds

and call out my name.

It doesn’t need to be heard,

just said.

I’ve always loved my name, but,

I think it needs more

than the blue of my eyes.


Separate blues

communicate through

unvarnished hues–

a communal want

for their true ocean.


The concrete commotion

never impressed me,

no matter the

gems unearthed,

the suits, embroidered.


I’ve only ever had

my single, silver star.


                           take it.

I promise its warmth

is worth just enough

to send “Billy” to the sky.

Let him feel all of the blues

where blues were born to feel.


Then, maybe,

just once

he’ll feel the sun.