poem no. 1

the page is like a jug
these things
only useful
for what we put
inside them

when i was a kid
i was obsessed with containers
collected old bottles and boxes
and thought a lot about
holding and being held
i think a lot about
where we hold words

in me
in you
in here

do you ever think
the pitchers we pour
our words into
are changed by them?
does the air become heavy
and overflow?

to me
nothing has been as important
as this moment
we curate together

the only thing i carry
the weight of this time
where the spark and flash of me
becomes a part of you

doesnt that sound beautiful?
If i could leak from my eyes
and pour my love
until you are full

doesnt that sound greedy?
if i could sink
to the lips of your lids
and drink you dry
as though you were
water

instead
i float around your ear
and speak myself into you
doesn't that sound perverse?
like a delicate plant
hanging from the windowsill