[remember when i asked…]

remember when i asked if i could kiss you in the cold
standing by your car. this is my juvenile love song for
you, the one that stumbles as gracelessly as i do with
inept words and approximations. this is a juvenile love
song for girls who never grow up and how when we
both went to the bonfire we avoided looking at each
other, let alone talking, while you drank from a bottle
of tequila and i threw up all over the dry leaves and i
don’t know who was more embarrassed. that winter
was over too quickly. i have learned since then, i
wrap my arms around myself to keep myself in check
the way small fires stay close inside their circle
of stones, the way light glints on the inside of a
tequila bottle, a liquored kiss on the hand, girls playing
at being gentlemen, flying coattails on a winter night.



  1. I like your writing style. I’ve read a couple of your poems now, and I find your use of mechanics interesting – the lack of puncuation and capitalization – along with your stream of consciousness approach to poetry is intriguing. It’s poetry of the brain rather than description or scene. So, in that sense, I find it sort of raw, wonderful, and effortless. I hope to capture that same organic expression in my writing, but it may be a challenge. Maybe I should stick with prose. 0.o


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