in australia you can weep bathwater

i think this          
though it isn't flowers or windowsill

me,
[omfg]
i was sly,
 caring


with the dust of you on my tongue
or the plain of my shirt
its nuanced wrinkles
and crooked me- still inside of it. it's been two days or whens like:

when she looks at me, when am i not the fullest blind i can be?

 and my collar aches to be
 a cowards sail
 on the lake [the closest body of water is always the lake when you don't wont to see the end of the earth in your vision of somebody so very beautiful]

 with a push of palm to her
 and let go -  and i
 squint at three
 months of letting go
 like it was a saturday and
 the moths were on the light shade
with my corpse dangling pretty 'neath moth flutter

 or facebook a reason to
 later say i am sorry for not
 really being

 happy enough
 or
 for
 sadness so awful

and so sadly mount her wall with my emoticons, or pm a kiss i would
later call a typo,

as if.

i wanted her in july, and now i have dry-heaved myself six cycles of moon

oz is the red certainty, the koala country
where i wuss, lap through shark
bites of her.
my mouth mouths memories:
called her "north star" or every one
 i can't quite recall

but the sand shifts beneath my feet
and she is

nothing australia couldn't burn
in trees

or a tub that i plugged.