You tease biting your nail and
looking for my beast to eat your
beauty. I hunger nights to eat
you and know your fierce thirst.

We  poets die over and over
each night as our words are
lost in waves of box wine.
We finally surrender to night's
promise of resurrection.

fragments of letters
written in the clutch
of being being stranded
between the human
and love

she called him darling

what is laid to rest
with each fiction
for we preface our heart
with every fiction

she called him darling

lines on a page, lines on a face
time turns relentless
and singular of purpose
to push us back behind us

she called him darling

what is acquiesced in the clutch
being born a mere portion
an unbelief in the entirety of self
Completion... the requisite function of another
So, the discarded beauty of aloneness

she called him darling

Could the interval between heartbeats
Encompass the summation
Of all you have been
And all that you will ever be

Sometimes
At night
When I am alone
I laugh at the concept of time....

It is dark out here
More alone here
Hidden
The rain has left her scent
You are folded back into the earth
Listening to your life... exist
Breathe
Feeling blood’s endless journey
Returning and returning
Sacred silence of self
Alone
In the dark....