These Poems

....And you read these poems
to me.

You say, "listen."
Sincere and sexy,
blushing on every line.
You tell me through
beautiful words,
of pretty things.

These poems,
fall from your mouth,
those lips,
they make love to me.
Kisses every sense,
every move and thought.
You're fucking me.
Constantly.
Reading your poems.
Giving me highs.

They're all in love with you,
your poems.
And I,
I am jealous that they can
love you from
so far.
While I,
I have to sit here,
and listen.
And keep my hands
to myself.
It's painful.
Your poems,
that lay on your tongue
where I ought to be.
Making you write poems
about me.

Write me a poem.
Recite it to me.
Naked.
Bare, unmoved,
because I deserve the space
in your memory.

Poems or something like it, I think....

1.
Waking up in Brooklyn,
your heartbeat steadies.
You say,
'the sunrises.'
I don't complain.

Kisses beneath covers.
It's Brooklyn,
I don't notice.

2. 
I fall in love at least
one second
out of
everyday.

3.
Seems
everyone has found
someone.

Seems
I write poems
for my imagination.

Seems
everyone knows
something I don't.

Seems
like it will be this way
for a long time.

4.
Can't you feel it?
Can't you feel it?
Causes havoc
disarray in
smart pockets
close to my heart.
Look.
Its on my face.