Sometimes, I am a jealous and awful soul.

I'm so jealous of those who spend time with those I love, of the work that consumes their time, of anything that keeps us
from sitting in the grass and talking, and not talking. And breathing and laughing.

If I could have it my way, I'd pick them, each of them that claims a part of my breath and we'd all live three apartments deep in the grand sea of brooklyn, where roofs see the skyline and none of the noise.

And back yards grow wild and hairy with wide bladed grass and crickets.
And I'd never had to be alone again, and I'd never have to sleep alone again, and we'd sit on the fire escape and lot hot sticky summer slow our souls and sweat would drip from out bodies.

I am Faustus, longing for more and more intimacy. For human hands in mine, for voices all around me, for the simple quiet presence of a one called friend.

Avarice spreading through my grasp and holding onto every conversation, unwilling to let one single word slip by unclaimed.

Friend, come sit with me and just be with me.