In the fall, when the leaves were just barely turning, I wrote you a song.
I sang to you that I'd bring you flowers at 4 in the morning
If you were ever sad.
That I'd walk to wherever you were.
When I sang it to you your eyes filled with tears
And that night you kissed me for the first time in a long time.
Months later
I brought you flowers
In the middle of the night.
You told me you were upset
And I walked to the store and got you roses.
You met me outside
Because it was cold and you didn't want me to walk so far
And on the drive to your house I watched the silvery light of the streetlights reach out to touch your face on the way by.
And that night
I proved to you that I meant every word I ever said or wrote to you
And you
Proved that you wanted me to
And that is why
I have hardly seen you since.

I am no rock
my heart
is not made
of tiny bits
of stone
it will not
be crushed
like a pile
of ground-up bone
it might be
washed upon
shores
like the most
miniscule of
treasures
found in sand,
unseen to
naked eye
yet so full of
iridescent magic
in a spectrum of colors
a secret world
unto its own
those almost
invisible shapes
jeweled corals
of earth
up from
sea  bottom
in foamy
rebirth
but I will take it
(yes, my heart,
in rawness
and thunder)
and hold it
and nurse it
before it goes under
I will rock it
and soothe it
before it calcifies
as the ocean
invites endless
salt from
my
eyes

the life I had
the one unmade
by knots of love
bound and gagged
for all my failings
take the blame
there is no mending
hearts estranged

layers sloughed
to make for new
leave behind
what I can't use
in forgiveness
find recourse
release the tether
of remorse

In dank imprisoned mind,
cellared,
thrown against a wall
by guttering candle,
huge monstrous thing
clawing at the stone.

On palmy beach, timorous,
hiding in sand, stored
Under feet in noonday heat.

Drinking wine with
the moon,
the three of us
flaggoned,
aliened underneath arches,
faintly there, drinking
out time away,
girding our *****.

Merged with She,
sheet crumpled, replete
with lust.

In every space, nook, cranny,
in qiuet contemplation,
thought myself alone,

But you have never left me,
capricious, morphing,
paranoic delightful
shadow of mine.

Feed on your ego, gorge on your pride
till you swell all up inside
You'll be like an over filled balloon
But very very soon.........

Someone will take the sharp tip of truth, pop the bubble you live in
Because all your bolstering and self praise is a very deadly sin