that sound you make when you're happy

it's somewhere between
excited chitter chatter
and 'tick-a tick-a'.

powerful magic

the angels gave us

a baby.  a good baby,

a quiet baby.

when she sighed, we sighed,

and all was right because we 

now knew perfection.

but the goblin king

stole her, and left us with you

in the baby's stead.

a heathen, wild with

laughter and song,  breath sweeter
than opium, and

eyes the color of
nebulae, striking me down
with only a blink.

chores.

there is no beauty
in the grit that's collected
on our windows

from rain and neglect.
the sun shining through it is
just a fucking nag.

a metaphor, mostly

being a parent
is pretty much like, "hey kid,
eat this thing i hate."

the merits of post math rock

this is how it happens
the same old familiar songs on the stereo
the tickticktick of the oven
and the gluggluglug of tequila
the purr of cards shuffling
and the flick of cards snapping onto the table
"you're waiting for one in particular, aren't you ?"

this is how we get old.

inflammation !

the worst part about

having iritis is you

can't wear an eye patch.

honestly, the whole 

eventual blindness thing 

sucks pretty bad, too.

an interesting drug

your head is nestled

in the crook created by

my elbow and breast.

we both sigh relief

as oxytocin seeps from

my brain to my heart,

bringing with it the

memories of you ripping

through me, bursting forth

in savage splendor;

a wide-eyed, magnificent

new force in this world.