I sever cement
crack crust
and launch magma
into China.

Stride slices air
sending eddies
like hurricanes
into cities.

I flood my wake
with sweat,
and you will know my presence
by the stink of mortality.

Only giants left breathing,
titans, gods and heroes.
As I run past the unlit horizon
I whisper to the slumbering sun,
and bid him kiss you good morning.

I think I am
therefore I am
in love. You say
you only think you're in love,
I say, therefore I am.

I'd like to pluck you from the speck of a hot Colorado summer,
sprinkle you with ambrosia until you've grown enormous,
then together we could stomp through the cities
laughing, "Let's make that catawampus."

I'd like to tug at one of your shoelaces in the kitchen,
crawl up your arm and then climb into your ear,
shrink you down with a spell's whisper
and together, just disappear.

I'd like to say goodbye to our titanic ways
then goodbye again to the microscopic,
find our regular size in the fall
once all is well.

Your legs on top of mine,
sticky, you recline--
eyes wide on a book,
mine droop low
with the wine in our glasses.
The summer heat
hangs in the drone
of a struggling refrigerator

while accompanied by purr
and the cat’s warm fur,
together a symphony
sounding my lullaby.

a funny feeling it’s
all just fantasy
can’t shake the facts before you
until the
pockets empty
to sort through the change
you have to
trust that it’s there
which isn’t hard
really
you hear the jingle
observe the bulge
but
you still can’t believe
a million dollars’ worth of
quarters
could fit into those
size double zero
jeans

Eyes open too early
taking in only street light
and midnight travelers
through an open window,

so shoulders dig
back into mattress
trying to bury cheeks
into pillow, and pillow into dream.

As I fall softly through feathers
into a dimly lit reality
I am reading perfect word
after perfect word

rolling gently into sentences
stacked into stanzas
traveled by footprints, set
in the slowly falling snow.

At the end of every poem,
I am sitting before a fireplace,
flame dancing on your face
smile hidden by wineglass,
eyes lost in my voice,
hands—mine—
warming every page I turn.

The moonlit snowmen outside
wave as I begin to sweat,
waking finally to early joggers
beating the heat, through my window.

I dawn thoughts of you
like a gossamer robe
when you're gone.

Coffee in one hand, boxers
and a stained white T-shirt
underneath. A scraggly beard.

At least I have the robe.

It protects me
as I venture out
for the newspaper

from the sirocco
of absence, worry
and loneliness.

I hug my robe close.

Black clouds hurl
tiny shards of glass
when you're gone.

Paper tears under armpit,
concerned coffee sloshes,
hair blows and grease escapes

even after I'm back inside.

At least I have my robe.

Your
Fire Gobi eyes,
ethereal portals
to lucid dreaming

in the deep ocean,
now lakes of light
through which

I can walk,
never needing to fly

When my day,
like a flask
is empty
Chances are
you're absent,
like the salt and pepper.

On that day
like the green
leaf turned ash
my mind is missing--
run off with the salt
and the pepper

Somewhere
with a sunset,
margaritas,
potatoes
for dinner, and maybe
cottage cheese
for breakfast,

The shakers,
waiting for you
to notice my
stainless steel finish
and how perfectly
it compliments
your eyes.

I wish my bones were paper, my marrow
pens; my veins were words, and blood
their ink; my skin
was leather—tattoos their titles;
air was inspiration— the oxygen
soluble.  I wish
the publisher was a block away,
but all I have to do,
is click file,
new,
create.

She has cooties,
that taste like
candy cake, bad breath
that smells like
caramelized honey.
She has mono,
that gives you
superpowers, herpes
would be a blessing,
but that’s just a cut
she got from climbing.
If I said, “Is that a fungus?”
She’d say nope, fungi
and I’d say “Damn
I got the fungeries”
If I kissed you
it wasn’t from lack of trying
not to, but because
your lips looked tasty
and I had the munchies.

"I miss you like the sun misses the flower
in the dead of winter." -- A Knight's Tale

If you should weep
in the absence of flowers,
I would craft you one
from whatever material winter has left
and lift it high, toward the heat on your face.

While your smile melts away the snow
I’ll lie the flower down, and plant it
in the warming ground
to grow into fields
of bright reminders.

If you should hide
from me during night,
I would wait for Earth
to make her way around the wobble
on the tips of my toes—arms stretched east.

When you splash my face with light overflowing
the horizon, smiling I’ll turn to you and say,
“I’m really glad you
got me up early, I am
not a morning person”

Four feet
from a flooded river’s
fierce flow, my toes
numbed by snow passed on—
and pissed about it—
numbed by the roar,
rushing, fighting,
at civil war with
everything you know
a raging river should be,
it got so caught up in its fuss
it challenged the fusion of the sun:

you stand so far away
yellow dot, why not come
and burn this boy, my
ragdoll toy? Stop scratching
at the surface of his skin, coward
come closer, come stay.
I’m only inches from sweeping
him to oblivion

Unaware was the sun to come
and play, she would melt away
a second time, then mist, the boy
as well; both to boil, until their bits,
indistinguishable,  joined the sun
in oblivion.

Baffled this was a question you’d have to ask, I sat tremulous.  I’m insular; I’d be enamored with even the most amorphous love, but I’m not inept, and won’t preclude that answering the question is salient.  And although I’m not taciturn, I’m rarely extemporaneous, so please excuse my need for verbose prose in answering said question.
You’re attractive.  Your strong jaw, small chin and cheekbones were sculpted to make your own eyes glow and an artist’s eyes expostulate dreaming of anything else. Don’t dismiss this as delirium, but rather relish this recondite fact—my first crush came in the fifth grade.  It was on a diminutive, outspoken girl, and I was enormous and timid, which developed into a village girl vs. Mowgli, me Tarzan you Jane, King-Kong-Ann Darrow complex.  And although I believe with zealous fervor in your strength, your size still incites the young jungle boy inside me.  And I hope I can say, without being terse, I’m afflicted with a mysterious affinity for red-hair.  
Although I could dwell in the obvious all day, I’ll redirect from the blasé.

Abandon
beats within us both
like hearts to the same pulse,
we don’t coax smiles, we let them slip,
we aspire to happiness like falling of a log.
I have to pry open time’s lockbox and plunder
the night just to relegate the dawn.  Bliss becomes
a tangible opiate making even the most existentially
exasperated docile.  Knowledge that every other thought
is dominated by one another without it attenuating the magic.
Knowing that if all I have to say is it’s raining outside, you
want to hear it.  Twenty-one years of my life I thought
I’d have to hunt love with a knife but you showed me
roaming where you like to wander can wake
the irreverent gods.  It’s your superlative
honesty that’s only for me; that virile
smile in your eyes that bid
doubt vacate my mind

Knowing that if I went catatonic, one reproving look from you would cause my heart to break and force my hands to put the pieces back before I stopped breathing.  If I could, I’d dawn you like a blanket before every dinner, dusk and dream.  And most importantly, we both like crowns.

It’s almost gone, but you
don’t even know what it is.
Its capacity— degrees of freedom,
vibrational
rotational
translational,
its essence— energy
measured absolutely,
first by Kelvin.

So know when I say
I’m losing heat, I’m dropping
Kelvins, quantized packets
that could raise my voice
to jovial screaming, flail my arms
bobble my legs and work my tongue
around my lips, eyes lit like dynamite.

Temperature comes and goes
be careful not to lose your bonds,
double
triple
bonds building bridges
to your childhood,
your capacity to love.

We forget how to laugh
so hard we hurt our bellies
deafen our friends
and scare our lovers. We
forget that the public
is just full of people
and find our tongues
are slaves to only tasting.

So I just make sure I’m waiting
for that mechanical motion,
that disturbance to ride
through my every bond
that won’t be breaking
because I’m not rigid.
I’m making sure I’m ready
to vibrate, rotate
and goddamnit
I’ll translate too.
I’m losing heat,
not degrees of freedom.

I’ll wake up to your
dead bunny breath
allergic to sunrise eyes
pillow plowed hair
and say darling—
because I know
you hate that word—
did you know it’s true
that I still love you?

You’ll turn to me and say,
you just rhymed true and you
using the word love
in between, and I’ll say
that’s true, but only
because I love you.

I’ll spend the morning
finding more words
to play with, because
I’ll never get sick of the way
your head and shoulders sway
dancing your happy dance.
You’ll turn to me and say,
you’re using repetition
like those sad jazzy blues,
and I’ll say that’s true,
but only because I love you.

By midday your eyes will have rolled
right out of their sockets, because
I made up the word sockettes
to make fun of your
size five feet. You’ll say
I love your words,
and I’ll say you love me—
the words just come for free.

By this time
we’ve agitated our ears
into the afternoon.  They look over
to our cheeks and eyes, and down to our lips
and complain: for the love of god
contain yourselves, but we only laugh harder
by this time
you, even before me.

We’ll keep on smiling—
ignoring our faces—
using phrases like
long into the night,
then lay down to
tasty tic-tac flavored tongues
waning crescent moon eyes
and pink frosting flavored hair

and just before drifting off
we’ll say,
did you know it’s true—
despite the day—
that I still love you?

Still winds catch silent and intent
sun beaten faces.
Dusty fingers effortlessly stretch
and find broken bits of sandstone.
Rapt eyes
never leave the primordial pool of sand
before gentle hands bestow return.
Like the two year old tosses pebbles
into the flush of a creek,
and the fifty year old throws
horseshoes to the metal marker,
we meditate.