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It doesn’t matter If I play the wrong song
Moments fade, memories last too long
That’s the wrong beat, so I can’t dance
It’s just too fast for good romance

Slow it down, let it beat like a heart
A one and a two, accent on the start
Wham two three, wham two three
Your heart beats the best of me

Love is the rhythm in a heartbeat
It drives the soul, there’s no retreat
Primal and deep, down to the core
Everlasting, ever yearning, pounding for more

9/12/25
One of my latest love poems. I'm a hopeful romantic.
I’ve got a new pad, 50 pages
That’s a lot of room for my rages
Enough space to spill my soul
Getting to the cardboard, that’s my goal
It might take me a while
I’ll have to laugh, cry and smile
When I finally get to the end
The cardboard will be my friend
Ops, sorry, that's what happens when I work from memory. I thought I posted this one here.
It’s incomparable
How I love you
Through every part of my being,
my existence
I love you
It’s visceral
Cellular
Cannot be excised
You are my atmosphere

Yet, now gone

I miss breathing
you're not greedy
keep the peices folded
its okay
that you want to
be seen.
is it okay
that i see you?
VEO GENTE ATRAPADA
ENTRE RECUERDOS Y
TASAS DE TÉ.

GENTE QUE VIVE EN UN BUCLE,
REPITIENDO UN DÍA SIN FIN,

ESPERANDO UN FUTURO
DISTINTO AL PRESENTE.

EL MUNDO HA CAMBIADO,
Y ELLOS RESISTEN AL CAMBIO,
SE AFERRAN CON FUERZA
A AQUELLO QUE FUE.

NADIE LOS PUEDE LIBRAR,
SU CONDENA HA SIDO DICTADA POR ELLOS.

POBRES HOMBRES ATRAPADOS,
DE LOS CUALES SOY YO UNO MÁS.
Golden apples, mouth size
morsels fall from the tree
into my father’s outstretched hand.

He mourns the pies my mother
will not make from this
unknown harvest.
The many apples she will not
peel in one long coiling strip.
The meaty fruit enters my
father’s mouth, untouched
by her deft blade,
unsweetened by her hand.

And as the frost lies
upon the apples golden
skin turning it first dull then
rusty brown, she lies beneath
the now cold ground fading
as the apples do.

And flocks of blackbirds
fill the sky, alighting
on branches bare of leaves
to peck and pluck the
fetid fruit that never touched her hand.
It's when you notice you're on the road,
Charging some end with harrowing choice,
The mirage unfolds; a mead-hall bright,
Born from a storm and ought be your load
The stones ask out if you dare to rejoice

Then stay the path, rock after rock,
As futile you know it may be
And rest but with wonder at what it was
That led you this road to see,
Try to banish the stones you think mock,
For Roving wanted to make you free.
Imitation of "Homily" by Allen Tate
oh i wonder, will you be still here, after i'm gone?
oh i wonder, might someone else hear the melody the way i did?
reminiscing all the beautiful lines,
the lines that rooted deep inside me;
the love i felt listening to you
oh i wonder, will someone ever feel the same?
life recommended you too late to save,
yet you remain, the song i never unliked
oh i wonder, could any new song ever take your place,
or am i just playing you on loop?
forever a song i keep in silence, my sesame syrup
dreaming with a filthy heart
Wait! Wait! Wait!
I need you to hear her out.
She needs you to listen to these emotions —
the sadness, the anxiety, the grief in her heart.
So give her a second
to catch her breath and think,
to wrap her head around where to start.
So give her some time.
Patience, people!
Patience!
Airborne Muse #2: Once I wrote: (1)

if it cannot be said
in ten words, it cannot

(but now, older wiser, more intuitive)

I be~leave five is plentiful

and I'm still
working on:
the three of,

thee and me

&
and one day,
I"ll get to maybe, and
reveal a bare skin of brotherly love,
and speak of the trinity of
two;
but I'm open to your suggestions
re that too:

note tho,

above beyond
just merely
we two


11/26/24
12:27pm
updated
10:30am
9/19/25
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