The cold winds and following seas
Did little to chill the rage beneath
The torpid skin and fragile bones.

Behold, the only thing strong enough
To keep us alive
Against God’s will.

Though some find hope,
In the arms of others,
I know only suffering. I find only pain.

if I could lose myself in your eyes,
       all that I am would be yours.

but the road map on your skin, crisscrossing the years of love and sorrow,
       guides me through the ups and downs of you,
everything leading me home.

if I could lose myself in your touch,
       I would gain more than I ever spent.

but the cold stares and the harsh whispers
       keep me from you,
everything locking me up and shutting me down.

if I could find myself in your love,
       that would be more than I ever deserved.

I let the flames burn, and I taste the morning.

I let the smoke rise, and it joins the taste of the morning.

I let the heat cook through my skin, the saturation reach its peak, and now I taste the morning.

The tangibly sweet anguish of an evening well spent is on my lips, down my throat, throughout my being...

I let the spark ignite,
and so I must taste the morning.

Nous ne sommes pas.

Nous ne pouvons pas être.

Parce que nous allons a l’endroit les roix.

Et il est juste.

Time passes, the earth spins and things are forgotten.
       But through my life,
Moments.

Velvet darkness, the heat of their eyes on me, a warm light smiling down,
       Capturing the dust swirling through the air,
Time stops.
       Shimmering sound around me and within, a deep glow of pride.

Standing atop a nearly vertical mount, the spray foaming over her sides.
       The brilliant blue of the sky contrasting the steel grey of the water below
My brow furrowed, every fibre of my being concentrated,
       on the serene buoy, bobbing happily opposite his twin.
The ripple of canvas, a single, joyous shout,
       followed by the roar of victory.

A foreign, yet comfortable bed.
       The window letting in the golden morning,
The quiet dust respectfully acknowledging the beauty,
       of the perfect light.
A slow, pleasant drift into consciousness,
       lasting for hours,
yet gone in a moment.

These are the moments that create,
       These are the moments that nurture and love,
These are my moments, and in my words,
       I pass them to you.

I've written dozens of poems,
       hundreds of similes,
millions of metaphors,
       in an attempt,
to share you with the world.

But I could write for a cenury,
       compose for a year,
rewrite and indite,
       for days and weeks,
but you can't put heaven down on paper.