One would think the timepiece crashing through your emerald window was a
dead giveaway. However I fear, like a bear hand shower, the potential of you
being more oblivious than I am! Will you lay with me? On this gray scale
carpet that does not bite, tell me more about the rolling of your ships. You
know, I hope to someday grasp the genius in your chest. White knuckles just
mean I have found a home. Now, if you will, sink back into my quicksand
Nicholas Anderson is currently a writing student at the University of Denver. Originally from Chicago, he writes poetry to get some of the crazy out of his head. His work can be seen in Burningword Literary Journal.