I massaged my temples
And cursed my heart.
I loved you,
And yet the pages remained blank,
The pen still held ink.
Quick romances in coffeeshops
Always found themselves
Immortalised
But you,
My one, my only,
Could drift away forever
With no memory to tie you down.
Only a broken poet
Is unable to write about the one they love.
You are a dangerous lexicon.
Excitement and passion wrapped up in confusion;
You baffle me to the depths of my being.
You can't find your way into my poetry
Because how can I fit a poem within itself?
You may lay your head against my breast,
Press your perfect lips against my neck,
Stain my shirts with your tears,
**** my sorrows with your smiles,
But you are too pure for any of my words.
I am a poet, but my love for you is beyond the reach of poetry.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
Let us walk along the creases of the Universe,
Of the wrinkles etched in Time.
Let us balance on the edge of Insanity,
Toss our worries into a supernova.
Our veins are cheap yarn;
Thrown away when tangled
separation an impossibility.
My blood is your blood.
It is in the waves that crash along our coasts.
We can be careful or reckless,
But not both.
Broken souls lost in reverie;
We shall not fade as long as we never wake up.
They will not know who we are
When they try to identify our corpses.
John and Jane, they will call us;
The pair with matching fingerprints.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
One extra glass of merlot
And you came running.
You cried out those forbidden words
And I told you that you were drunk.
“Drunken words are sober thoughts.”
I think you had forgotten by the morning.
You wrote a poem for me
And I cried.
You said I brought out the best in you.
You dreamt that you awoke to find
A figure at the foot of your bed:
An angel.
You said you longed to walk hand-in-hand,
To hold me in the darkest hours of the morning.
Where are you now?
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
I am held together by glue and staples and
purple construction paper.
I fear not death, but life.
I am tattered and torn,
flammable and too close to flames,
slow-roasting.
I am a never-ending *** of coffee,
a broken alarm clock,
the warm side of a pillow,
the empty tube of toothpaste,
an unsolved crossword puzzle written in pen.
I fear not death, but life without poetry.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
I know you’re trying to forget
The lonely words we spilled
With no discussion of repercussions;
Phrases that clung to our skin
And dirtied our souls.
I don’t know if I regret it,
But the memory lingers.
You told me that you would kiss
My lips, my neck, my hips
And that you longed for the touch
Of my gentle fingertips.
We overwhelmed ourselves;
A ****** of desire with no way out.
We were the Apocalypse.
We retreated to our own lives,
Our own beds, our own friends.
I asked how you felt, where we stood now;
And you left me to wonder
Alone.
No matter how many showers I take,
I can’t cleanse myself
Of the hold you gained on me
With your gilded words late that night.
I know you’re trying to forget.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
Eating rotisserie chicken in the passenger seat.
Cracked feet, pink thighs, windswept hair.
Specks of mascara sticking to the dark circles beneath your eyes.
Friction between your legs,
Bugs crawling through your veins,
Hot showers, cold showers,
Broken air conditioner.
Swollen fingers,
A ring that doesn’t fit,
Drops of sweat running down your spine.
Barking dogs,
Red lipstick,
Lightning bugs dying,
Fireworks.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
My lord and savior,
Stuck in a world
Fifty years too late
And thousands of miles away.
Salmon flesh stuck to his legs
And his camouflage blent into his surroundings;
It was only visible by the sewed-on patch that read,
"Stop War."
Hair held back tightly,
Sitting across from me
With a look of pure fascination,
We were introduced.
My gaze consistently found him,
Eyes closed, picturing the words and only the words.
Shoulders, chest, abdomen moving to the rhythm of
Stressed and unstressed syllables,
Snapping his fingers when his body contorted the most;
He could have walked on water.
With him standing on a chair screaming Ginsberg
Like a pastor would The Bible,
My heart skipped a beat
And I found religion.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
At length their long kiss severed, with sweet smart:
And as the last slow sudden drops are shed
From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled,
So singly flagged the pulses of each heart.
Their bosoms sundered, with the opening start
Of married flowers to either side outspread
From the knit stem; yet still their mouths, burnt red,
Fawned on each other where they lay apart.
Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams,
And their dreams watched them sink, and slid away.
Slowly their souls swam up again, through gleams
Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day;
Till from some wonder of new woods and streams
He woke, and wondered more: for there she lay.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
When do I see thee most, beloved one?
When in the light the spirits of mine eyes
Before thy face, their altar, solemnize
The worship of that Love through thee made known?
Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,)
Close-kissed and eloquent of still replies
Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies,
And my soul only sees thy soul its own?
0 love, my love! if I no more should see
Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of thee,
Nor image of thine eyes in any spring,—
How then should sound upon Life’s darkening slope
The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Hope,
The wind of Death’s imperishable wing?
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
O Thou who at Love’s hour ecstatically
Unto my lips dost evermore present
The body and blood of Love in sacrament;
Whom I have neared and felt thy breath to be
The inmost incense of his sanctuary;
Who without speech hast owned him, and intent
Upon his will, thy life with mine hast blent,
And murmured o’er the cup, Remember me!—
0 what from thee the grace, for me the prize,
And what to Love the glory,—when the whole
Of the deep stair thou tread’st to the dim shoal
And weary water of the place of sighs,
And there dost work deliverance, as thine eyes
Draw up my prisoned spirit to thy soul!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC