january 12th

sometimes i get sentimental
and it makes me want to do something drastic,
like play a piano in the bottom of the ocean,
or atleast take my toaster in the bathtub.
and sometimes i think
about the flowers in her hair
or the way we sit,
cross-legged watching the clouds pass by as
if we were in motion
and they were some stationary being.
other times i remember
hearing god in her voice
the way we whispered meaningless
secrets into the other
and sometimes, i'm told,
i resemble the holy ghost
but only in the face and nose
because nothing holy could have these withered hands
and nothing beautiful could be touched by this,
calloused skin.
and i say to myself,
sitting on the rooftop of a parking garage
smoking my last bowl,
that someday i'll resemble jesus,
in more than just the facial features
but in the hands and chest as well.
and our wine-stained lips will find rest on eachothers
until a symphony is rising up in our chest
and release is found in the foriegn face.
and a smile is born on mine.
but i'm still sunk down
hitting one key at a time
on a piano sunken to the bottom of the sea.