like kindergarten doctors
around a make-believe patient
trying to determine the prognosis
of "a boo-boo on the inside
a little bit to the right and below
the lower area around the belly button"
...I am at a loss for words

just put a bandaid on my chest
kiss my lips and tell me
that it's all better

I wish I had an agenda behind addressing you
but I don't want to sound like I'm
just trying to undress you
you're beautiful in your stardust smile
and I am trying to hold a conversation
while juggling my self-consciousness
I'm waiting for something special
like a backyard astronomer
waits to name a comet

I refuse to let my love burn up in the atmosphere
by getting temporarily caught in your gravity
I want to revolve around you permanently as a moon

lately I feel like
without a saxophone in my face
my tongue ties itself in forget-me knots
instead of the brilliant yellow of linguistic summer salts
I'm speaking in shades of blues
relying on melodies to paint
surrealistic emotional momentum
I'm waiting for your critique

tell me, my finger painting is post-modern
inquire into the avant-guarde roots
of my crayon Starry Night

let's lock Jung in the closet and
throw Freud into the bed-chest
and put make-up on our emotions
we can play dress-up in my parents' attic
you can wear mother's pumps and
i'll put on my father's dinner jacket
paste a fake mustache on my face
we can trade last names for an afternoon

"oh... i think
you've got a little mascara on your cheek
...let me get that for you"

it's childish but
I've been so scared of falling in love
I pine over make-believe crushes
but trying to stitch a heart back together
by thread made up of distance
is like trying to push together
two ends of a magnet with the same charge
knowing full well they'll never touch
maybe that's why I'm attracted to turned backs

so if you just pretend to walk away
I could put my arms around you
and we can fit like puzzle pieces

Time heals all wounds
but some accidents leave scars
and I want to be soft again
so that when you touch me
you go "oh wow, that's smooth"
maybe this isn't the right way to do it
but I've wired all the clocks in my head
to run backwards

I'd like to grow old with you
but first I'd have to start growing again
until our vectors coincide

Life is what happens during growth spurts
pain is just a sign that you're growing taller
so it's no wonder my head is always in the clouds
but thinking of you makes my butterflies tickle
and laughter is the best way to feel
the earth beneath your feet
what i mean to say is
you make me feel little again

you make me feel like
sampling ring-around-the-rosie
in a bebop solo
like painting your portrait
with my fingertips and
smashing all my clocks to prove
time don't mean a thing
we've got the rest of our lives to grow up
and only this moment to make sand-castles
so come play with me