I am tired and miss the comfort of sleep
The hours of endless dreams
Uninterrupted
The dull nights of perfect solitude
The quite yearning of nothing more
Of my life of something less
Peaceful lonely tides
Of sad moon lullabies
Washing over the cracks
And broken pieces
Of a heart still faintly beating
Happy enough to remember
Love kisses of long ago
Limbs of dead lovers
Holding me under my breath
Burning ghosts of memories
Of torrent blissful bodies
With eager hands
And lustful mouths
Dancing lunatics under
And over and twisted
And tangled within sheets
Made of dreams and fire
What a crazy ride
What a life of love
It has been
Hearts still burning in stars
Of my now lonely sky
Names I still hear in songs
Of melancholy beauty
And tender kindness
I miss them all
I loved them all
I love them still

...

And now
Unexpectedly
There is you
A soft pulse of hopelessness
A gently crushing weight
A dream
That has made me painfully aware
That my life is not done
That love is
Not done
And it doesn't need
To be felt in kisses
Or to know your touch
Your body never need
Be naked before my mine
Our limbs never need
To dance with madness
And lust
It is there
In the space
And time between us
Illuminated
By the lighting
Of your heart
And sung
In the thunder
Of my pulse
Two specs passing briefly
One on the way up
The other falling down
My heart filled
With just the sound
of your name
And needs nothing more
To know
Your love is beautiful

I am a failure and a fraud, I have yet to live up to my imagination, to be the courageous child that can laugh at god and play with the devil, I have spent more time doing less when I should have been doing more, I can smell the autumn winds and see the darkening grey skies of what little years I have before me, so quickly it has gone, the minutes and hours and days and months and years and moments, small flashes of inspiration crushed under waves of the indifference of tomorrow's, love has always been there but not always tended to, lost and found, burned to ash and risen to flame, cowardly ignored and foolishly rushed into and still it is there always in reach of being out of reach, I am not particular good at any one thing, I have not studied as I should have, I have not been practiced or well disciplined, yet I pretend and continue to lie, with pencils and lines and pens and words and clays and shapes, I have no idea what I am doing yet I find I do it anyway, sometimes at least, not as often as needed though,  my future sits on my desk and in my sketch pads and it is right there in front of me and yet somehow I manage to ignore it and just go through the motions of living, hoping for what... I don't know... I do not fear death but I do hope that she is far enough away that I will figure out how to live with failure and how to be a good fraud and how to use my imagination to the best of its abilities and mostly how to be a courageous child