Nico

You are like a new embryo,
encased in a uterus,
walking around on the sidewalk,
disguised.

Your feet pushing the
pedals of your bike,
always trying to make them turn
in spheres instead of circles.

It's as if I introduce myself
for the first time, every time.
You have amnesia.
Amnesia you got when
you fell for me.

You fell out a third story window,
and for awhile
that seemed okay.

You're different
is all.
Your skin cells
are not the same ones I met
when I felt your mass
sitting next to mine,
and I didn't know you're name.

I sat down that day,
and a tiny piece of your aura
snuck out of you
from underneath your fingernail,
and landed in my palm.
From then on,
small bits of that
original ionic you
crept out, and added itself to me.

I realized that unknowingly,
my stingy soul had stolen away
the parts of you that are
most like me, and
you have amnesia.

An amnesia of us, and you
smile when you see me.
A blank white fills up
the behind of your eyes.

I remembered this
bursting with color,
but you stick out your hand,
and I realize that it's my eyes
that are bursting, and wait,
is that, there behind your wrist,
a tiny piece of me that
I lost?

Have I found it in you?
Maybe so,
but I have all of you,
and you only have a piece of me.

The problem with our love was this,
you are a teenage soul,
rolling in passion,
floating in smoke and growing in free fall.

And I am a wrinkled soul.
one that has learned to observe,
that is longing for the peace
of an eternal hibernation,
and has reached that time
when the pursuit of beauty
is more important than running wild.

When I am around you,
I feel like the worst of criminals,
and my fat soul,
like a voidfull dictator.

Sometimes I'm startled by the
plain incomprehensible chill
that rocks my hips at the joints,
that surrounds our mouths with pause,
and causes our eyes to remain open
without the need of a slight bath of blink.

Where does this chill come?
When does it land
frosty and helpless
to this common time,
this normal noon?

I can't tell you,
and you, my dear,
you cannot tell me,
but what I find is,
it's something we all wish
lived underneath our ribs,
as if in jail.

Never to be released,
never to be given
any sort of trial, but only
stuck in unsolitary confinement.

It seems this hidden morsel
is a tiny, and confusingly surreptitious thing,
and oddly enough,
too many other beings
are able to dress up like it
at more times than just halloween.

Oh to be jailed in the
smiling wonderland of
this, my portrait!
But it's a dream dear,
only a dream.