fading,
still nameless and splendid,
his eyes were open to
the lamp and the shadows.

"depart from the night"
he said to the infinity beneath
the dark demanding
absolution anyways.

the boy in his bones
screams at ravens
on a scarecrow in a
snow covered corn field.

time elapsed.

the man in his head is kneeling,
always kneeling.

We fell in love by chance,
We stay in love by choice.

You can’t be near the sea and not know you’re near the sea, that’s how you made me feel.

To feel everything,
But nothing at all.

To hear everyone,
But no one to call.

To sleep and weep
In the hours of day.

I slip into darkness,
And fall astray.

a week ago wednesday
and here we are, here i am,
begging and bruised and
bursting at every touch;
the gentle threat of promises
that are not uttered
but seep in, somehow,
through the sensitive skin of my thighs
and into my bloodstream,
begging to be realized
and i dream of giants and gems on your pillow;
my mouth is consistently
failing me, and the promises hide behind
my teeth as you pry them open
with your tongue--
i melt the confessions into your
bed sheets and close my eyes
to dream

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)