I was eighteen,

and in love with the spaces
between the fingers of a girl
who would never marry me.
Though every map I traced
across her torso, dextro breath
on my neck in the basement of
our favorite coffee haunt
dragged me closer to believing
that I could sign my name
to forever with an expiration date
and emerge unscathed.
I couldn’t. But it was very beautiful
to love her anyway.


Communication ways,
business area,
leisure sectors.

Tall buildings,
other long
some flat.

Also there are cylindrical
in various sizes
and varied colors.

A real city,
where some items circulate
while others are stored.

A parallel world,
miniaturized to the extreme
and high performance.

Authentic simulation
a city where life
are micro electric pulses.

Crossing at speeds,
Hard to imagine, spaces
between electronic components.

A special world where
the real and the virtual meet
mix and result.


My Own Desert Places

“They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars—on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.” 

- Robert Frost

Dancing With Monsters

Meanings hide in words unsaid
and there are moments I wish
my mouth were larger, so I
could smile as big as my heart
is full. Then I would take
my big mouth and chomp
all the roads between us until
you stood beside me
close as breaths,
when I could fill in the spaces
between your heartbeats
with mine.

Like how I wish
I was better at math,
so I could fathom
how many times I died
the day you called me
your epiphany, and how
many times I’ve been reborn
into a harmony where
the most important sound
is listen and the most
important word is we.

How grander I am with you–
to become more complete
for the price of a song. Some
Saturdays supernova
and birth new stars.

© 2015 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

the quiet spaces

I love her in the quiet spaces

between words

when the world holds it breath

in anticipation of the next moment

when there is not a leaf

in the forest that falls

without turning into

a memory of she and I,

pressed between the pages

of a book

where we can hold forever

on the unwritten paper

of a single day.

in these spaces
               your endless promises
                                                    of ‘next time’
i stand by the door
staring at its broken lock
                                            when i should replace it
and in these            spaces
your endless lies
i think we both         realize
                                                i’ve stopped
                                         a long time ago