A prisoner of love, I am now
Sentenced by a dream a mother once had, and
Bound by "we want the best for you" and "we don't want you to make the mistakes we did",
I have lost so much of what I used to be,
I am now incomplete
You are the good in the morning that can draw a beautiful smile on my face.
You are near yet so far but I know I can reach you at my own pace.

You are warm and carefree,
my Sunrise, you will always be.

In your arms I found a home.
Every good morning leads me to a good night.
all i want is my water
let the salt stain my skin
let it fade my fear to grey
my tear tracks taken over
by the ocean expanse
taste the song of the sea
in brine, bitter, mara
the wind off the dunes
a prayer in the form of
knees printing themselves
into the sand, hair tangled
sea stars dried & kissed
my fingers twisted into
knots, i cry & thank the sky
for the rush of release
the sea brings me
like nothing else i love
notes fade out, i listen
a melody of breakwater
my soul cracks open
like a cave on the face
of the cliff, a chorus inside
a mockery of my pain
the gulls remember me
ask me have i changed
have i learned to sit still
to take the water into
the depth of my being
put aside myself & be
the receptacle, the lover
to mara, the listener.
have i learned? maybe so
and i miss my water
the salt tears drying slow
bare body dusting off
the fear like grains of sand
onto the earth under my feet.
15 october
2:57 am
te extraño, mi mar salvaje.
It pulses and twitches like a nervous heartbeat,

The throb
Of your fingers

Tapping an absentminded concerto
Against the mahogany,

Harmonizing

With the throb of my own

Fluttering disquiet ⸺

Palms outstretched
Taut, tense, and waiting
At the bass-line below the table

To catch the tempo of your consciousness
On the harp strings of my fingertips.
A combination of some random jottings I made awhile ago and reworked into one text.
Grey brutality,
to the ashes,
all these fires
burned through to the end,
it couldn't get enough,
enough of the sensitivity
beyond your skin,
swinging in awaiting of
diving into mesmerizing
spring,
while high
on
melting
into bones,
there are no thrones,
there is
a song to sing.
you miss a tree
how you miss
magic never seen,

you kiss a demon
how you kiss
never again,

you break free
from no chains
to get them all
over your body,

grey shorts and
the bottom of Bordeaux
red tainted
on the floor

and              still
not enough,
not of her,
jumping in and
jumping out.
Movement
Gleans flesh from skeletine
The harpsichord of a soul
Breathing
The eyes retreating
To their black pearl
Geletine understanding  
There in the photograph of him
Running.
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