The Boy Downstairs

I'm in love with the boy downstairs
I knock on his ceiling, and he on my floor
The people here cannot read
our morse code
our skin like braille
but only for each other
We are fervently silent 
but only with each other
breathing in rhythm
warriors beating from inside our rib cages
harmonious battles
ephemeral eroticism


With his hand clasped around his wrist
factious ignobles
boors under the aegis of their own blind nature
besiege his opulent altruism
their perspicacity to enervate
what's left of him to cut out
but his pieces become carrion
inside their unfit holes


I ask him
not to rectify their disintegration
I tell him
this isn't his fault
these people left their amorphous hearts
on street corners somewhere between
growing up and giving up
an intersection of mistrust and misunderstanding


I tell him
that we could only continue
cutting out pieces of ourselves
and fitting them into the empty spaces
of each other




(a vocab piece for my creative writing class. Don't be overwhelmed by the atrocious number of big words)

Red

It is warmth on your cheek

like a kiss from the sun

seeping through the blinds of your window

late afternoon canvas sky

ribbon clouds painted

brushed with heat strokes

It is dirt kicked up

from your feet planted into the ground

then uprooting yourself to run

so it spins in the air behind you

trace the shapes with your fingers like candle smoke

spiraling upward

It is all dust and roses

It is when her hand graces your arm

the glow spreading beneath her touch

staining your skin when she leaves

it never really washed out, did it?

It is summer

falling into autumn

It is bodies in the snow

they tumble together in spite of themselves

the wind is their quiet laughter

you didn’t know winter could be so warm

It is girlish innocence

concealed beneath a flushed cape

curls swept under a hood

blood underneath skin

wolfish grins in the forest

It is pounding fists

into pounding hearts and heads

faces swollen with questions

chewing on bitter answers

It is bite marks on fruitful skin

sinful as knowledge

temptation is just as sweet 

It is all red