A poem for those who let their gut guide their heart

You and me, us two
we would be bad news.
You would sadden me with eyes that soak up sorrow
and I would scare away your sleep
with slashed black-sky night howls.

Though I want to touch those cheeks
that laugh with mine in time
and let my skin graze the furrows
of your chapped lips I know that this
is not the place or time.

Because this concrete is cracked
and dirty puddles have merged
and formed dirty shallow lakes
reflecting brash nightlife around our feet
as two dickheads high five.

The place is wrong and the time is wrong
and this whole damn fucking world is wrong.
We both see it, we both know it
but we don’t say it or speak it out loud.
We just hint.

Because to share would be to say
that I understand, I know, 
more than our friends
more than our lovers 
could ever comprehend.

There are no stars in our eyes there are
no butterflies
but embraces seem to last a little longer
as if our bellies know
that there is no sense in letting go.

Yet we step back and aside
don’t let instinct cloud the mind, remember;
there’s no sense in binding hearts
that sink
together.