Lonesome Romantics

We meet briefly in the crowded doorway
before being separated within.

Our own sadness,
communal sorrow,
& longing for a connection
are represented by all of these lights 
that turn us into chameleons.

In the powder lines
we reintroduce ourselves as
displaced trust
&
disassociated love
&
together we dance to a song
we can barely decipher
before we collapse to the floor
confusing our dreams with desire.

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Baby, You’re An Angel

To the man in front of the apartment complex
who told me so as I walked home
at 11 PM as a sophomore in high school.

I’m glad that you noticed,
I wonder what tipped you off first?
Was it the flaming claymore that I carry on my back?
Or was it my wings, the size of a small vehicle,
That stretch out behind me, still dusty with particles of heaven?

I hope you don’t say that it’s my eyes:
That’s what most people say.
They can see that they carry the weight of having seen God in his glory,
Having seen him enact his justice and mercy
Upon his creation.

Let me see, was it the halo that has sunken around my neck
Taking the form of a golden chain,
Or was it this blazing, pale complexion
That cuts through wherever darkness lies?

Perhaps it’s because you’ve never seen me before;
After all, you only see angels when they’re in disguise,

So since you're so knowledgeable, how have you seen through mine?

He wants to make s’mores

You ask me to trust you, but for me, 
trust is like roasting a marshmallow.

My heart at the end of the stick
is soft and my love is thick;
the kind of sugary sweet
that can be crushed under extreme pressure
or melted under prolonged heat.

We both already know that 
if you ask to take the stick from my hands
to hold it out over the flames,
promising to not let it get burned 

It's gonna catch fire no matter what you tell me.