As the mind grows weary
in the plum void darkness
a hand twiddles and bends the
vibrations around your
body into a swirling
spiral, hazy lazy magic spinning
sound fog brushing and breezing
around your mind massaging your
brain and igniting a slow pulse
like an ember kissing a flame
in your chest as the warmth  winds
around your body like the ripple of
an opal Venus choral dropped in lava
lasciviously  lounging in your eyes
as if a phoenix sang an ode in the vast intersection
of time and space colliding together
to make a gravity that slowly compels you into the
wormhole of your self--
the door to many things and realms craving to be opened
if just to get some fresh, rain embraced air...
the smile says everything.

You're right, I agree.
We should sleep on the hammock by the howlite beach
and fall asleep as the indigo water lulls us to sleep.

You are urban delight, New York debonair,
and you don't need to be grandeur
to set a trend or flutter a heart;
not when you brush your thumb against
the beard you maintain with apple-pie order,
and quickly flash your howlite teeth
with such modesty, that man has to
stop and wonder if it's really true
that the most endearing, do not have
a notion of how sublime they are.

and I love how the sun still catches itself
upon your burnished, rust-painted
locks, slicked back and parted,
careful not to hide a single fleck of
the honey-gold scattered in the jade
of your eyes that still flicker warmly,
even when we're passing under the
shadows of the skyscrapers that
try to swallow us whole with 8th Avenue.

take me to Amorino,
let me fix the collar of your shirt
while you order me a lemon gelato,
and I'll tell you on the walk
to the carousel on Pier 62
how it's all your fault that my cheeks
have been matching the pink
of your shirt since the afternoon-

and you don't even realize
you're doing that to me,
but I love it as much as I love
reminding you of the reasons
that I could think to adore you,
because that just happens
to be one of them.

And the other is because I would love to.

Clouds in the sky
Sparkling stars
Skin of a corpse
Faded scars

Doves in the snow
Howlite stones
Powdered ash
Dried up bones

Purity and emptiness
Pale and bright
Serenity and grief
The color white.

the time has come to burn the witch. if you recognize her, keep silent. if she is innocent, say nothing. guilt, as it is measured by the eye socket of milk snake skull/ as it runneth through bone to pool in a fleshless land/ is present here. in this witch. in this body. which is to say, there is time left to drink from the howlite moon. but do not ask the witch how. we have taken precautions. we have made perfect her form. mouthless as a moth. eyeless as a worm. watch, now, as she calms upon the pyre. as she soul calls fate. i think we will live to regret this.