London. January. 7:45pm
A bench possessed by a single gem
Thinking obsessing over a single thought.
Of the last argument they ever fought.

The saxophone player blowing his tune.
His only audience the shining moon.
Trying to earn some last needed dough
Wondering why he even puts on this dumb show
The other street acts already home
Now he stands, alone.

Southbank market nears to an end
Time runs out between two friends.
The spark has gone- the light is out
Now every mind is filled with doubt.

Her mind starts to wander as she contemplates
On all the things she has to complicate
A kiss, a hug, a humorous lie
Did they even try?
Her eyes start to fill with the water of a tear
She fails to keep her mind clear.

She stands up and leaves
Walks away.
She doesn’t know where she’s going
Or why. Or how. Or how long she can postpone
But she still walked. Alone.

today i will look for
chocolate and flowers
and find a pound of
belgian dark in my
pantry, and wilted
tulips on the counter.
i will hand write a
poem because it's
just so much better
on paper, and i will
serenade my darling
with bright eyes
on a scholastic field
after the last bell rings,
for at last i can stop
musing on possibilities
and begin to dwell
on solidity.

today i will bring you
a rose, for the petals
and lines and worn
down world-weary
ravines contained
in you; i will bring
you sweet darkness
in a plastic wrapping
for all the sugar laced
in with your hair and
irises, and despite your
fire and your heritage,
i will leave out the heat
of sacred mayan ritual
peppers because together
we'll be warm enough.

     finally, i will lean
  down close to you and
    whisper what i have
     not whispered for a
  million seconds or more,
    because i just haven't
     had the opportunity:
  *Ya llegué, mi querida.

Blue eyes as deep as the sea
Left unclouded by the darkness of the world
Living a life that has not yet been foreseen
With a heart made of love that beats like the wings of a beautiful dove
She breathes life into the young and old
Trying to discover what her life might hold
Nothing can be said because her eyes show us everything
In a world where darkness breathes all we know is that she will change everything.

A cup of London Fog warms
My frost bitten fingers
My toes curl tighter in my socks
Cramming together to stay warm
Sitting on the little window sill
A silent corner amidst the  
Voices in conversation
And the shuffling of books and newspapers

My mind is like a messenger dove
Still perched on a branch
Waiting for the note it must deliver
But whose thoughts are already
Lost in what the flight will bring

My eyes stare out of the
Glass divide
The see-through division between
The snowy outside world
And the coffee’s home

Suddenly all freezes
The strolling people outside
With their snow caps and weathered coats
Are statues
Identical
With no emotion of their faces
All those who sit at the tables
Within the café’s warmth
With their books and computers
Dissolve to sand   

I watch the slow extinction
Of society and friends
Movement and speech
My eyes
The only ones left unfrozen
My body
The only one left whole

Did they migrate to another world?
Did they realize their bodies weren’t really who they were?
But instead that they were particles apart of everything else.
Who knows?
Yes
I think
Who knows?
And
With my eyes unfrozen
My body whole
My toes cold
And a cup of London Fog in my hands
I take a sip
And contemplate

I've learned that failure is subjective
as beauty in the eyes of the beholder
sometimes a hard fall or soft landing
a moth flight against the porch light
or a bruised knee, left on the cement

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.