Compost you and me.

It’s been decided.

I’m un-invited to the possibility.

You won’t give chase to the chance that
this could be something worth talking about.

Worth fighting about.

Because it has to be perfect, and smooth, and expected.

That’s where the opportunity over-ripens
and is smooshed beyond usability.

Compost is the option.

Compost you and me.

Written Monday, November 5th, 2012 @ Flowers, U District, Seattle, WA.


I had a dream

last night.

You were in it;

I was there.

We were together

by an open window –

the stars were out

in your eyes.

The smell of bougainvillea

whispered kisses

on our noses;

you said I could

lay my head on your shoulder,


you said,

“I don’t want to fall in love.”