No lullaby tonight
Only my lips to cradle you to sleep
Keeping such whispers as I press them on your cheek
Unleashing them all as I make contact
Fade to sleep, my love
Saunter into such honey-like dreams
Leave this plain with tears all dried
Walk with me in these boundless worlds
Find me in the confines of mind and heart
And see my love for you transcends all

all these thoughts will be set in motion
in your eyes i see the ocean
on your lips i'll taste the sea
this is the life you've given me
in your hands i'll feel the earth
finally i'll understand my worth
that it was never meant for man
too many people can't understand
that it's about loving yourself first
only then will you quench the thirst
and find that burning desire
nights will burn away like fire
there's no point in feeling alone
once it's felt it's never gone
because we are all connected, so deep
the sound of trees will lull us to sleep
dreaming, wishing, it's now a duty
to find the hope, the faith in beauty
it always feels so fresh and new
every time i dance with you

Diamond beads roll off my skin
Sweaty hands and age old gin
Sunshine pupils in candy eyes,
Crying gumdrops and sugarcoated lies.
Raindrops on my fingertips
Poison blood on broken lips
Black and blue painted thick
Cheeks flushed red; a simple trick
Kill yourself but stay alive
On your rotting soul they'll thrive.
The shadows of forgotten thoughts,
Who rap themselves around your heart
And suffocate the breath you wished was gone
Turned my sunshine into war

I don't feel better anymore.

Why do we have a sick obsession with fleeting encounters
We are infatuated with quick passions
We brush the surface of interaction
We brush lips
We brush hands
We brush lives.
We never press the surface
We never press our passions
We need to press our lips
We need to press our ambitions
We need to press our hands
We need to press our lives into symbiosis.
We are scared for what happens after the blissful, brief, mysterious moment
We do not wish to know what happens once the surface is broken
We fear rejection.
We err toward safety- to minimal contact- minimal exposure- minimal risk
Our fragile continence’s are limiting our life- our passion- our love.
Turn down the offer for fleeting life, fleeting passion, fleeting love.
Why merely brush life’s surface?
Dare to press deeper- life has more to offer than mitigated risk and passing romances.

I remember every inch of you
and those memories come
back to haunt me now, while i
toss and turn, attempting
any semblance of rest.

but there is no escaping you.
you are so clear, so fresh
in my mind that, when
i close my eyes, i imagine
i can hear you breathing in
this bed next to me.
i feel the warmth of
your skin. i feel your
hands on my waist,
pulling me close while
your full lips press against
mine, my fingers in
the hair at the back
of your neck

I can see every tiny detail
of your face.
the mole near your lip,
the tiny scar on your
forehead, the skin tab
on your eyelid, the little
hairs on your chin and cheeks.

the softness of your skin
how it was perfect.
plush to the touch,
not skinny or hard
but not fat

the way your pubic hair would
have the most perfect tiny
curls, how it felt between
my fingers. Soft, unexpectedly

the hair on your legs made
you manly. your calves
so strong. Anyone could
see that those legs
were going to take you
places.

How- when i would
straddle your stomach and
you would pull your arms
above your head,
                 valleys would form

valleys would form in your
armpits, where your glorious
scent was the one
smell that let me know
i was home.

You were my home.

Valleys would form, craters
would appear in your
collarbone, jutting out in
a way that i couldn't
resist touching.

your nipples, tiny
hills. you would always
complain, but
you were so beautiful.

the toenails on your big toes
were broad and flat
hair growing on the
                        top of your foot


if only you were here
      tonight

I would kiss every inch of you

until you truly understood

how much I miss you.
I miss you.
You and only you.

mi Alejito,
                mi amor

he makes his rounds down by the 59th Street Bridge:
one leg bends, the other stays straight.
you can't miss him, he's darker than night‒
pasty white lips, coffee cup jingling,
and a fresh clean suit to really catch your eye.

"shit, look at that guy!"
I've heard people say.

he's been at it for years,
rattling that damn cup once the light
turns yellow.
it must be working,
there's always a different suit.
throw in rush hour and bridge cleaning  
and you know it falls like rain.

but one day I saw him walking along 31st Street,
pacing, hustling, both knees bent.
he moved better than I did,
dress shoes and all.
I pulled up and honked:

"feeling good today, huh buddy?"

pasty lips kept it at full stride,
rounding the corner with
no shame in his step.

it wasn't long before I got stuck at that light again.
of course, out came the hobble and the sound of loose change.
I believe the lady in front even handed him a bill.
and when he finally made it over to me,
the only thing I could do was grin.

a guy like that, you just have to
let him go.








from Dizzied By Chance: Poems of a Fringe Existence (2013)

it’s nights like this
when my fingers are sticky and reek of popcorn
and my stomach purrs like an antique car
that i cease to exist
just a quiet little thief
tucked away in a prison of white stucco
stealing oxygen and racking up an electricity bill with a lopsided pink lamp
honey on my face
a “beauty treatment”
an edible headband sunken into my hair
gnats crawling between my eyelashes
black dots just as hungry as i am
the music of the wind plays outside my window
rattling long forgotten memories
and stirring up dust of the past
there’s a constellation in my hand
universes up my arm
purple lines swirling together into incoherent shapes
semi-deep whispers escaping my lips
that are pale and dry and hurt to touch
bad pop music crawls through crackly headphones
same song, different artist
and my sheets
animal print, picked from years past and never changed
due to either nostalgia or laziness, the world may never know
disengage themselves from my bed
twine around my ankles
sly cats looking for milk
and hunger eats at my heart
i count the minutes as they spin on
by the soft timpani as it thumps eighth notes through my chest

Colonial mansion, in an ocean of grass,
windows aglow as I walk past.
funeral service now used of verandah,
but I hear music, not mournful stanza.
french doors open to a reminisce,
with boyhood heart, of vitreous.

Footfalls on parquet floors,
tux and gown past crown moulded doors.
captured ambiance of a setting sun,
shown from chandeliers highly hung,
day I was born, born day of the prom,
I smiled cordially, and my date fawned.

girls betrothed by corsage on wrist,
rare french curls--a lunar eclipse.
bedraggle boys now dapper and genteel,
vest and bowtie, a knightly feel.
chapperesses smiling at maidenly gait,
happy drowse in  mansion estate.

cufflinks, silk gloves, nail polish of gloss,
beheld tonics and sweets, carefully aloft.
opening cord, an arrow from cupid's bow,
striking coquettes to their tippy toes.
they sprang to dance,I stepped back,
invisible in shadow with tux of black.

shoulders, lake ripples easing to shore,
hips, gentle waves, right before pour.
boys stiff, as if waists beheld sabres,
legs, sweeping brooms of on shore waiters.
"your too handsome to stay here unseen,"
said rivaling chaperess, semblance of queen.

"you should dance ,"said glittered lips of pink,
bent like sparrow wings, during teacup drink.
privy to why in shadow I hid my blush,
her class my crush, that crushed me so much.
she strained me, even the shadows she gave,
black silk, stretching,--convex and concave.

crude metal and wood classroom seat,
clasped her waist of slender physique.
she was guarded by a window in curtain mail,
and tended to by servants of light and gale.
light loved her skin of mediterranean sand,
and wind enraptured with brown strand.

light penetrated strands, blondly hot,
wind would blow, cooling pony tail off.
her shadow curtsied under my desk,
long legs danced in irritableness.
mourning class is abuzz with scent of prom,
flower not frost, rules the school's dawn.

I gave my consent,to an earlier invite,
then on, suitor blinded me with light.
and Great Gatsy, and looming prom night,
subjects of sparrow wings pressed tight.
" show of hands, who do not have a date?"
slender wrist arises, from an arm curvate.

alone, she shown that no one asked her,
this stone of Rome amongst boys of plaster.
hand fell with boy of teachers match,
wind shrouded her,from the window sash
rays gave discomfort,to gaze her way,
but I looked through burning ray.

to see a trace of a tear,in eyes ovate,
a godess unsought, with sadful face.
I, poor, fatherless, could not possible go,
to prom, with princess of arched portico?
I could not interweave my hands to dance,
or know, where I could place my glance.

wind blew a scrap from her desk, indiscreet,
it was pierced by light at my feet.
"will" and "with" were dotted with a heart,
"prom" and "me" before most painful part.
my name in her beautfiul free hand,
the colour red, from hearts inkstand.

class bell rings, I travel to mansion dream,
blue grass meet oriel in cul de sac seam.
eyes turn to cotton, in shadow as I ponder,
as pain was forgotten, I came upon her.
invisible hands, lifted my chin to a red shape,
our eyes met, her's smiling, mine agape.

only a glassmaker could imagine my sight,
seeing hot curves form in dance floor light.
only a wax-wing could have rivaled her eyes,
waves gently broke to gown down her thighs.
"will you dance with me,"she softly entreated,
" I don't know how,"a coward repeated.

a princess which tournaments were held,
for which every timber of mansion were felled.
not for Greece, mansion corinthian column,
for her, from quarry prom did befall them.
I could not tarnish this feminine form,
with my lineage in crown she adorned.

I turned from beauty, to dark acres tread,
under willow, I play the last thing she said.
my name, as I shunned from last chance,
back under willow, cane marks my stance.
I have preserved her forever, shying fate,
even if it was with my own heart-break.
*
I still see her--in the most beautiful prom poses,
still, I see her, as lights flicker out, and a coffin closes.