When I first met you
I was so skin-starved
The taste of your lips felt like love.
I'm still hungry now
But my palette is finer.
Love is not to be gobbled, but savored.

There's a tab for you
A tab for me
A tab for all the things to be
A tab for games
A tab for shame
A tab for that one girl, what's-her-name?
There's a tab for ego
And breakfast burritos
And one that should probably be incognito,
There's a minimized one
For my work left undone
And a tab that won't stop playing music.
I keep clicking around
But I still haven't found
That one tab that people call peace.

You're trying to tell me
Your head's all a mess?
You're trying to tell me
Your sweat’s wet with stress?
I'll tell you a secret
Here's just what to do:
Starting from one,
Count down to two.

I found her
When I cast away my shame
Along with my garments.
My sin is washed away in her river,
And I lie In her sun warmed soil
Finally home.

I like you most
Because of how you play with me
When I share a thought with you
You bounce it back to me
With a little bit of spin added
And I have to hustle
To hit it back to you
Somewhere you won't expect it
But you always return.
And when you serve a thought to me
It zips through the air
So I have to lunge for it,
And it's power
Sends a vibration through my body
When I hit it back
And forth
And back
And I hope
Our game
Lasts
Forever.

I'm too practical for poetry.
After all, I spend my 9 to 5
In practical pursuits.
I sit at my computer doing something or other,
Certainly not dreaming
Certainly not wandering off
Over acres of flowering thoughts
Frolicking through the meadows of my mind
Dancing in the swirling winds of imagination  
That coalesce into clouds the shape of ideas
And drench my skin in misty anticipation,
All while my hands sit on my keyboard
And my status shifts from “available” to “idle.”
Certainly not.
I'm too practical for poetry.

I'm in love with the music
That my guitar makes
When I'm not playing it.
The resonant hum
When I pick it up
And the hard polished wood
Rubs
Against the sides of its case.
It sounds eager.
The hollow thump
That echoes in the chamber,
Percussive yet sustained,
When I set it on my knee.
The buzz
Of the textured steel strings
As I run my fingers up the frets
It changes pitch,
Lower and Lower as my hand moves higher,
Cut off when my hands are in place,
With a tap as I press down,
Steel meeting wood under my fingers.
And still it keens softly,
With a low and subtle vibration,
A quiet harmony of voices
From the strings and the wood
Unconscious music
Accidental
Unavoidable
And beautiful.