I lie awake.
The half moon,
whose soft white shine
invades my room
and makes the tears that rest on my cheeks sparkle;
illuminates half of my face
so that the moon and I
can become a whole.

Only me
and the silence of 2 A.M.

Outside goes the party-goer
-knackered and filled with a portion of fresh memories
that won't be found in the morning-
to his rest.

Only he
and the silence of 2 A.M.

Outside stumbles the drunkard
-with repressed thoughts and events
that he couldn't erase out of his memory by a bottle-
to his end.

Only he
and the silence of 2 A.M.

Outside staggers the broken one
-with blood that’s drowning in wine and as red as the lips of the woman he tries to forget-
to his death.

Only he
and the silence of 2 AM.
L.T.

It started with a hint upon the air,
the telltale heaviness of anticipation.
A few brave drops fall,
testing their reception on this earth.
Then the drops fall in earnest,
surging down on she who is uncloaked,
embracing the coolness on her skin,
each drop a sweet lingering kiss.
The thunder roars, both terrifying and exhilarating.
The lighting flashes, the wind picks up,
tangling her hair with earnest.
Yet still she stands, embolden by the chaos,
finding peace and comfort in it all.
Your love is a summer storm,
earth-shattering,
deafening,
irresistibly beautiful.

(explicit)

**** my soul
        with poetry
           scream out my gracious name
             slay me with words
               that peel my layers
                and simultaneously
                                   drive me
                                           insane

finger me slowly, hotly
with just the right rhythm and rhyme
    push me past my
                 tender limits
                       into tongues of syntax,
                                                      sublime

a­lliterate my senses
   (in swift stac
                    c-at
                           o)
until my mind is but blank verse
    mess up my stressed
              and unstressed syllables
in unsung language, versed

I will speak to you in vowels
(the only sound
       I will be able to make)
as you stroke
   my iambic pentameter
             in the heat of frothed-up
                                                     ache

we are this heroic couplet, you see
        even if the meaning seems veiled
           no need for simile or metaphor
               as I feel your chest rise
                              in deep inhale

we are a natural paradox
       so many ironies abound
         discordant harmony
is our synaesthesia
     in visible darkness found

and I love this delicious enjambment
as your aura invisibly slips
                               into mine
our lines have no beginning,
                                 no end
    as we undo
          the boundaries
                      of time