It is only the sweat drenched
fever murmurs
of shell shocked honest ones
that can
and will
fully explain
the powder burn residue
and necrotic psychology
of what they have seen

There is an ember
burning brightly
for you
In the darkest
most secretive regions of my heart.
When furious dark tides crash
high against the waterfront
Leaving me soaked and shivering
That ember cannot be doused.
When violent squalls roar across
the barren landscape
Forcing me in
all directions and pelting me
with dust barrages
That ember cannot be smothered.
When the earth’s clashing faults
trembles and shatter
Threatening to swallow me into
its monolithic abyss
That ember cannot be crushed.
When the fires lurking behind your eyes
leap forth and envelope me
in their silent rage
Immolating my very being
They will leave only a pile
of pitiful ash…
…and an ember
still brightly burning.

Is there an order?
In there an approximation of pi
circling our first awkward flirtations?
Does a dragon curve lurk hidden as I
caress the curvature of your spine?
Where does Euclidean geometry fit in to the
first time our lips met?
Does the Pythagorean theorem detail our most intimate
love making?
A quadratic formula for the shameful
discarding of punched in picture frames?
Is there a golden ratio that best expresses
hurried apologies and frantic entanglements
between our sheets?
I know for certain there was
a simple subtraction
on the day your tears added up everything
and finally said goodbye.
Some would say there is order in this
chaos disguised as order disguised as
chaos
Continually debating pattern recognition
or butterfly effects
But I’d like to think
We were more subtle than that

Nestled gently in
hushed lullaby desertion
Beneath tangled barbed spines
of the briar
The dreamer stirs restlessly
as deluge reigns
from the agonizing existence above

I wear a suit and tie all day
slave to a clock
come home tired and irritable
while the lion just does whatever it wants
and has the entire Serengeti to roam
picking off Wildebeests until it is satisfied
but it can't use a computer
or a microwave
and it doesn't have an air conditioner
but then all these things
are in my little cage
I'm not sure who has the better life
But I bet the lion would think
cheeseburgers and french fries
on value menus wherever we roam
are pretty awesome
I'm sure we would be good friends

She pulls my head toward hers
her lips gently part next to my ear
sensual
intoxicating
irresistible
and murmuring seductively
she says
"No honey, it would not
be a good idea
to rob the pizza delivery man
when he gets here
because we gave them our address
over the phone".

You lived in my old house.

You greeted us with
a warmth that
matched the touch
of soft simplicity
and the antique heirlooms
you so often
dressed your life in.
After the others left
and the wine bottles
fell empty to the floor
you smiled that lazy
knowing grin
that so often
told me I was loved.
Just as I pulled you into my arms
the world filled
with that telltale haze
when we are seeing
what is not real
and I felt
the impending sorrow
That so often comes on
As we begin to wake
from these longing mental trickeries.
You died in the fall
and every time the leaves
crumple and wither
I do the same
as we so often do
when a part of us leaves this world.

In my dreams
You still live in my old house.