chandelier street light dream

this is a sleepless poem--
a mouth kissed hungry full
of questions-- 
what dreams do you 
remember when you are
alone? 
the ones vivid
enough to walk back to?
does your story have
a prologue-- 
an author's note?
a dedication page?
oh if we were books
this would be so simple--
spine to spine on
a shelf-- 
book mark me-- 
i don't number 
my pages-- i have
an index made of 
smooth stones--
right now my heart is 
left with your foot
prints-- you pace the
ceilings of my eyelids--
i grip a glass chandelier 
in my teeth-- faint clink
of crystal on crystal--
you had to have
know you were laying
yourself down into
a poem being so
damn beautiful--
here alone i think
about everything i 
want to know about you--
how would you 
describe the taste
of snow?
when was the last
time you stood ankle-deep
in water?
do you still believe 
in the ocean?
i'm filling the planets
with air again at the 
gas station
up the street from 
my house-- 
they've been shrinking-- 
i can't
stop them from turning
back into pennies--  
oxidizing on our sidewalks--
let's be teal & wild--
let's break windows
with baseballs--
let's tear up
the floor boards
to make a campfire--
steal the night sky
for a tent-- 
shadow puppet
me into a parable--
the parable of the boy
turned into
a statue in the
frozen heat of january--
when was the last time
you let your heart
become a storm cloud?
do you have thunder in you?
a blizzard? the 
audacious hum of sleet?
when i come down
i fall all at once--
a summer bass drum--
cymbal-tongued--
have i told you about
how much i used to sing
in the shower
& how i hid bubble gum
beneath my pillow?
next time i see
you i hope i get
to hold you longer--
open umbrellas
in your rib cage--
there are so many eyes
in this storm i forget
that somewhere again it
is raining-- i have
a pocket full of 
change that was once
all the planets
in the solar system--
let's meet on mars--
red & loud--
i can buy you 
a parking meter,
a 23 hour day, &
every street lamp
on your block to kiss
under-- 
i haven't opened
your medicine
cabinet but i assume
that's where you keep
your constellations--
the sky tucked
behind your reflection--
next time you go
to sleep take
a handful of dimes--
spend me on a highway--
oh if my hair
was long again i could
follow it home--
there are beds somewhere
on the moon you know
& maybe even 
a nightlight?
what i mean to say
is i'm awake &
it's too late
to un-write this
poem i've been living
it's about meeting you &
i can't decide if
you're meant
to read it yet--
we happen in fragments--
in rear view mirrors--
parallel parked
on a stop sign--
this city was
a chandelier--
laughing as 
i left it-- 
does your mouth
write poems without you?
do you think of
holding me like
i think 
of holding you?