dear boy with dough-lined eyes,
i am sleeping on empty mattresses and waiting by the window. the ashtray is empty but the bathtub's still blue.

dear boy with frog-eared lungs,
today i cook pasta, spirals not wheels.  the sauce is red instead of white.  my left hand is empty.  i call you and tell you these are things i'm willing to sacrifice.

dear boy with fire-glow lips,
there is moonshine in my veins.  there is glycerin on my skin.  even a devil's mile away we spark.

dear boy with caged-bull ribs,
there is no elephant in the room.  there is a chest of drawers dated 1874.  there is an empty nest.  there are three blind mice.  the zookeeper just left.

dear boy with mirror-grazed limbs,
yesterday i wrote you a letter, licked the envelope, dropped it in the mailbox.  in three days your scar-ridden hands will slide along the edges and you'll pretend it's me.  eyes closed.  in three more days i will crawl into a cardboard box and follow.  

dear boy with ink-laced skin,
i'll trade you shoulders, trace my index finger along pictures on your back.  find waldo.  rest my head between the blades and breathe in.

dear boy with the dove-feathered tongue,
we throw away the eggshells then stomp around like giants.  lay by the lake and sleep under celestial beings.  the winds tell us the sands are for us, but we already knew it.

dear boy with the yellow-gull heart,
(you are everlasting.  you are not permanent enough.)