Old but evermore appropriate

and I realize with a sweetness all around my mouth
the labels we've learned are our meek attempts at separation, individuality.
You're chic while she's hipster but that one, oh that one, hasn't a clue, poor thing
the older generations
the ones with one label for us
our one true name, the one we try damned doggedly to shake:
"those kids"

Old daydreams in words

I miss the corsage pinned under your skin;
the whelps of our love;
love buried beneath tissues.
would my eyes be able to meet yours lover?
I've dreamt it, awake and panting, asleep and drifting.
I've been reaching toward technology
aching to but it's never enough.
I owe you more.

Now

let me deal with the blanks

I’ll handle the white noise

I've got the answer for the brain that won't stop screaming:

What are you doing?