poem from a room.

this grass-stained heart is my sunday best.
these asthmatic lungs are breathing heavy.
heavy.
i've got a heavy head.
lead that keeps me grounded.

i've got my hand on my heart.
like a patriot at a baseball game.
i suppose that would make you the anthem.

lucky. lucky.
yes i am.
not knowing how this will end.
i can say i'm lucky.

you know.. i've got a crush on your ears.
promise me you'll never become Van Gogh.

i've got a crush on your wrists.
promise me you're nothing like Aron Ralston.

it's true.

i try to sleep.
not think about any of this.


i can't.
instead i roll up dollar bills into telescopes.
i swear i can see god.

if i were your one wish, i promise i'd try my
best to come true.

it's the least i could do after being blessed
with your breath.