We had a spark
That could light up a world
That spark between us
Was undeniable and intense
The electric fire
Can be felt and seen
The spark we made
It could have fused
Endless possibilities
I can remember how it felt
I can still see it in your eyes
Through our hands
Through our lips
But at the end of the day
That's all it ever was
Just a spark
And it became
Nothing more than that

Up here on the hill

where grandma came so often --


times flow together.

...There is no element, in existence,
equal, to me,
with the force,
and polarity, of you.

Take me...take me, further in.

I will not,
I could not...ever, resist you.

My will, is hammered carbon;
yet, this contract, of the soul...
it is ironclad.
Draw me,
into the tensity,
of your unbroken field.

Does your ghost, hover
like magnetite,
at the northernmost point,
of its own compass needle?

Does your shadow, dwell
in its arrowhead shape?
Does your heart, steel,
its directional pull?

I cannot pass you by,
but to be drawn,
into the divine gravity,
of your embrace.

Sweet...so sweetly,
do you hold fast, to me.

My lips, shudder,

tremulous,
with an irrepressible urge

to glue themselves
to the nectarine sweetness,
of sunbaked flesh.

Take me...take me, further in.

Leech me, of resistance.
Break me, of my defenses.
Shatter this separation,
that pulses fiercely, between us,

and pin me, to the core, of you.
Keep me, always...
yours, alone;
yours forever...

and worlds, may end,
castles, may rubble.
Entire civilizations,
may fall, to ancient ash,

Before these lips,
could ever dream,
of leaving, you.

It is the open arms that we long for;
the bright lighting up of the eyes when we enter the room.
An old man can deny it, but the 5-year-old within still knows.
We want to be welcomed like a sunflower field,
or the sweet voice of a grandmother at the door.
The need to truly belong is a force in itself.
You see everything in life has an impact;
the power of love and the compulsion of hurt.
The open doors and the slammed ones,
the last words spoken and the welcoming's,
our heart never forgets them.
You were too weary for open arms,
and too hurt to truly shine.
Truths an old man can discern,
but a child
can only feel lost in the darkness of it all.
For it is the open arms that we long for;
the bright lighting up of the eyes when we enter the room.
An old man can deny it, but the 5-year-old within me still knows.

...Open your eyes, to me.

I want to spiral, around you,
beyond the dark, infinite wall.
I want to transcend, your physical;
to lure you on, and away
into a purple field, of Freyja's daisies
with nimble, metaphysical fingers--
beckoning beyond,
the starry curtain,
of crystalline dreams.

Will you let my arms,
circle your Roman neck,
like verdant vines
and pull you further, in?

Can you feel my smile,
sun the slant,
of your beloved cheek,
and can you photosynthesize
into new life, with me
even as you re-seed, in darkness?

I want to whisper,
sweet words:
devotion, and desire
into the well, of your ear...
until they roar, and pound
with the sacred force,
of white rapids...

swollen to riptides,
in the conch shell,
of your churning mind.

I want to weave, around your flesh
and speak, a love spell
into your shifting, Lycan eyes.
An incantation, that plays,
with the blue ghost, of your flame,
and ignites, the candle of your soul,
on its breathy sighs...

...melodic tones.

There is no heart,
quite like yours.
It pulses, beneath my hand,
like drums, of war.
Gladiator...

take me, to your Colosseum.

I want to wander
the upper echelon,
of its throbbing chambers.
I want to feel you ache, for me
in your left ventricle...
soft, warm flesh,
perfectly preserved, in golden amber.

I want to gaze,
into the blinding sun,
until my eyes, tear...
closer to heaven,
than ever I've been.  

Darling, what do you see,
when you look at me?
Salvation,
or ruin?
Vikingr longships...

or Valhalla...?

I pray...that one day...
you will take my soft hand,
into the Titan strength, of yours,
and not perceive it,
as an instrument
in the ruin, and wreckage, of you.

I ardently pray, that, one day...
you'll come, to bathe
in the Baltic blue, of my eyes...

and never fear, again,
that they could drown you.











...Let me take you...home.

On the bus, on the plane,
a child kicks the seat,
Loudly sings a half-song
on repeat.

Watch the adults wince,
the parents hiss under their breath,
their patience thinned to wire.

They stare harder at their safety cards,
at crossword clues,
at the blue glow of movies
they won’t remember.

This is the invitation-
Not the kind printed on cardstock,
but the kind that comes with grape jelly fingerprints,
with questions about the clouds,
with shoelaces that won’t stay tied.

Tell me more about that dragon.
That’s not a shadow, it’s a mountain.
What would you name the ocean
if “ocean” was taken?

When they cry,
que the jokes,
make a peanut packet talk-
and the aisle is lighter for it.

How could this not be better
than folding yourself into a seat,
guarding your stiff silence?

Soon they’re gone,
dragging backpacks like spare limbs,
wet-cheeked or grinning.

I sit in the quiet,
watching the passengers
already back to their closed faces.
The question stays:
how could that human response
not be better
when the world hands us
small, loud,
unrepeatable gifts-
and we hand them back unopened?